


Times of Change

by conquerorofheaven



Series: Times of Peace [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Horcruxes, Knights of Walpurgis, M/M, Mostly the same tags as before, Reapers, Soul Magic, The Deathly Hallows, Time Travel, Tom is still pretty cocky, War Veteran Harry, World War II
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-08
Updated: 2017-11-12
Packaged: 2018-05-31 12:06:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 54,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6469450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/conquerorofheaven/pseuds/conquerorofheaven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry is still in the past and Tom Riddle is still as persistent as always.  This time though, Harry won't get away with pretending to be weak.  His secret's out and Tom has made it his mission to figure out his others as well.</p><p>WARNING: Read 'Times of Peace' first!  This won't make much sense and contains major spoilers if you have not read the prequel!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Oh my gosh it's finally here! I'm not going to lie, this was hard, I'm still not completely satisfied with the first chapter. Luckily, I had a random stroke of inspiration and have a pretty good idea of where the story is heading now.
> 
> For all those who were waiting for it, Harry and Tom will be getting much 'closer' in this fic, physically and emotionally. All the stuff I hinted at before will also come into play here. I left several mysteries at the end of 'Times of Peace' so feel free to speculate and share your ideas.
> 
> Also, MAJOR SPOILER WARNING: This fic begins right where the other one left off. I highly suggest that you read 'Times of Peace' before jumping into this one.

The Aurors arrived long after the ‘battle’ had taken place, closer to midday the next morning. Tom sneered at their incompetence as they bumbled about the scene creating all manner of outlandish theories when the true facts were clearly presented to them.

“I’m telling you it was Evans, Harrison Evans. He did all of this!” Dippet exclaimed his explanation for what had to be the third time. Incompetent number one frowned, he was older than the others, but just as foolish.

“You’ve all said that he was only out of sight for maybe a half hour,” the other Professors nodded vigorously, hoping that this time the man finally got it. “Well, that’s impossible.” Immediately all their faces fell.

“It’s not impossible, because it happened!” Professor Merrythought was on a war path by this point. “Just because you lot couldn’t take down a Reaper if he’d lost both arms and worn a blindfold does not mean—“

On and on it went. Tom had followed the proceedings to make sure nothing too terrible was pinned on Harry, but apparently the Ministry was more willing to believe that the entire Hogwarts staff had suffered some sort of mass hallucination than the idea that one man, one _mudblood_ , could take down over 50 highly trained Reapers in less than an hour.

Of course, Tom could benefit from the Ministry’s naiveté. In fact, he fully intended to. Still, the entire aftermath of the incident was only fueling his desire to go forward with his plans. This level of ineptitude was unacceptable and it would not stand in his new world.

Tom silently exited the room in which all the Professors and Ministry officials had gathered; everyone except Dumbledore. He couldn’t believe he had actually forgotten about the old man until he appeared before everyone just after the sun had risen.

The Professors had returned to the Great Hall, temporarily stalling their search for the errant Assistant in favor of reassuring the student body that all was well. The massive fissure that Harry had created during the Halloween feast stretched beneath three of the four tables and halfway up the wall, the house elves completely incapable of repairing it.

The irritating Professor had wandered inside, looking thoroughly exhausted, and spun a magnificent tale of his capture at the hands of the Dark Lord Grindelwald himself. Tom had looked upon the proceedings and immediately noticed that the man didn’t have a scratch on him.

As powerful as Dumbledore was, Grindelwald was hailed as one of the most powerful Dark Lords of all time. Tom had serious difficulty believing that the old man had been with him the entire night, and had returned without so much as a wrinkle in his clothes.

Unfortunately, the other Professors, particularly Dippet, were too eager to have him back to even consider the inconsistencies in his story.

Tom was heading to the Healing Wing, to which the few injured students had been returned, trying to ignore the persistent niggling sensation at the back of his mind, the cloying ache that only seemed to worsen the longer he put off searching for Harry. 

The Medi-witch prowled about the room, ensuring that none of her charges could escape. He smiled at Madame Willowby as he entered, at the very least she would make sure his wayward Knights had a less than pleasant time during their stay. She entered her office to allow him some… privacy.

Tom sat in one of the guest chairs and crossed his legs lazily, staring at the three boys that had been laid out in adjacent beds. His displeasure was easily visible. Harry had already retaliated, so now it was time for him to administer his own punishment.

“So,” he paused, taking in their downcast expressions and shaking hands, “what exactly deluded you into thinking that acting against my orders was a good idea?” The question came out sounding rhetorical, but Tom fully expected an answer.

“My Lord,” Abraxas began cautiously, “we were only acting in your best interests. We—“

“How fascinating it is that you three claim to know my best interests better than even I!” He smiled dangerously, baring his teeth. Orion shuddered and babbled out a response.

“No my Lord, we were just—“

“Silence.” Tom’s eyes were hard. The light streaming in through the window enhanced the shadows on his contours making him appear positively demonic. “I had hoped that the previous incidents would make the matter clear, but apparently you all are in need of further clarification.

“Harrison Evans is off limits,” he ground out. “He is an asset, one far more valuable than you three combined. Thus, I will have no difficulty making the choice should it come down to it.”

The three boys paled further. Tom was making his stance clear, between them and Harry, he would choose Harry every time. He looked over to see that Silvus was looking especially ashamed.

“What about you Lestrange? Do you have anything to add?” The boy looked up, allowing himself to make full eye contact with his Lord to communicate his sincerity.

“I deeply regret my actions, my Lord. I will make sure to make amends with Evans as well.” Tom allowed the satisfaction to show on his face.

“It seems Lestrange has come to a very important realization.” All of the amusement in his tone fled. “Pray you have a similar epiphany.”

Lestrange nodded solemnly while the other two boys looked towards him with wide eyes, as though they could divine what he had just learned with sheer desperation. Tom stood smoothly and moved to leave the room.

“You know where to go after you are released. Any attempts to delay and I will be _very_ displeased.” Tom did not wait to see their reactions, there was somewhere he needed to go as quickly as possible.

Ever since ‘The Battle’, as the others had taken to calling it, Tom could feel Harry’s magic more intimately than ever before, when Harry had disappeared Tom almost when mad at the lack of sensation. When he had finally calmed he noticed that the sensation of Harry’s magic had never truly left him. It was just… muddled.

He swiftly made his way out of the castle, ignoring the looks he received as he passed. They were irrelevant now. He needed to find Harry, it was all he could think about.

He followed the connection, the long and straining link between their magics which Tom was constantly aware of no matter the situation. The closer he came the better he felt, until his magic was all but pushing him forwards, urging him towards his destination with an uncharacteristic intensity.

He followed the link until he ended up outside a horrible looking shack with boarded up windows and a rotting wood frame. The entrance to the pitiful structure was at the base of the ever unwelcoming Whomping Willow.

Tom barely noticed as the massive tree wound itself up, preparing to crush the tiny creature that had dared to invade its territory. Without even a cue from Tom himself, his magic reared up and squeezed the bark of the tree in its terrible grip, crushing and grinding the ancient Willow until it submitted meekly and allowed him entrance.

The teen made quick work of the entrance, pushing past the unresisting wards that Harry had undoubtedly laid down. He stepped inside the oddly cozy structure and was almost knocked back by the sheer intensity of the magic within the enclosed environment. Tom’s eyes shuttered as he took a deep, relishing breath of the vast and powerful magic of his Harry.

He forced himself to move forwards, passing through the entrance area and into the house proper, coming directly before the exact man he was searching for.

Harry was leaning back on a rickety chair, daring it to collapse under the strain of his full weight. His feet were resting casually on an equally untrustworthy table, as his head lolled back, eyes half closed and still glazed over with something Tom couldn’t identify.

He made quite the picture.

Tom took a few steps, unable to resist when his prize was in sight.

“Don’t—“ Harry’s voice was strained, thin and breathless. His magic twisted and curled about the room, seemingly beyond the man’s control. Tom narrowed his eyes at the order, before resuming his forward movement.

“Stop” this time Harry’s voice was barely above a whisper, but the full force of his magic rang out behind the command forcing Tom’s feet to cease their movement.

At first he pulled at the restraints, using his own magic to attempt to remove the compulsion, but all he felt was a sort of warning chime in response, as though his magic was reluctant to follow his commands.

‘ _This is ridiculous,_ ’ Tom thought, as his magic continued to bob about uncertainly. He wanted to get closer, he _needed_ to be near Harry, to

_touch him, feel him, taste him._

The urge was practically overwhelming him.

Harry finally turned sluggishly, moving only his head to look at him for the first time since he had entered, eyes unfocused and pupils dark as his thick, dark, lashes blinked slowly. Having the man’s captivating eyes looking at him and only him, was enough to quell the urge somewhat.

“My magic is not…” the man trailed off as he searched for the word to finish his awkward and stilting sentence. Even after such a short period of time, Harry’s voice sounded hoarse from disuse.

“Yes?” He prompted, patience wearing thin once more.

In his half-conscious state, Harry apparently went through some sort of mental debate before sighing and allowing himself to look directly into Tom’s eyes.

Tom noticed the implications of this action and took it to mean that Harry was trying to communicate something for which there were no words, and thus, was allowing Tom access to his mind just this once.

Just this once.

Tom shivered at the gesture of trust and eagerly fell into the mind of his Harry.

*****

_The urge was back. Harry’s magic churned violently beneath the surface of his skin, demanding the freedom which it so desired. He did not usually restrict his magic so much; normally he was content to let it hang about his person, falling over body like the most comforting of cloaks._

_But now it was far too dangerous. His magic had a mind of its own. It did not obey the verbal commands he gave it, rather it followed the brief flashes of emotion he tried to smother, the terrible thoughts that slithered into his mind in his darkest moments._

_His magic liked those commands, those strong and childish desires which were far more destructive in nature than Harry would ever be willing to admit._

_But that was not the worst part. No, by far the worst was that on some level he wanted it. He wanted so badly to release his magic, to let it run wild and unchecked, to feel the rush of power it provided as it moved through his body and filled his very soul. It encouraged him to_

take that extra step, cast that extra spell 

_Every time he used it fully, every time he gave in to the oh so tempting desires, it grew a little stronger, took more control from him, made it even more difficult to resist the next time._

_And there always was a next time._

*****

Tom gasped as he left Harry’s mind. He was shaking, no, shivering in delight. His magic was purring in pleasure; he could still feel the echoes of the sensation which Harry was trying to communicate to him.

Once again he strained against the hold of the compulsion, trying with all his might to take that another step, to move closer to that man, the one that could make him feel like this.

It was enlightening. The man that lacked so much control so as to not even be able to produce halfway decent Occlumency walls actually had more control than anyone else. Or rather, more stubbornness.

He would not yield, not even to himself, and so he fought, desperately, every day. Tom wanted nothing more than to be able to touch him in that moment, to be able to reach out and feel the veritable flood of magic that was hidden just beneath the surface of his skin. That magic that he had let out in earnest for the brief period of time it took for him to defeat the Reapers, his enemies.

Tom blinked, shaking his head.

This was exactly the opposite of what he should be doing. Just that small glimpse of Harry’s memories was enough to make him lose his highly valued self-control, and if he lost control then what hope was there for Harry?

Tom took a mental step back, breathing deeply as he reinforced his Occlumency shields, carefully placing the memory of the temptation behind several layers of protection.

With a final breath, he focused his magic and moved through the compulsion effortlessly, the same way he moved through all of Harry’s magic. They were connected somehow, their magic recognized each other. Harry could not keep him away and Tom could not stay away.

He stopped only inches from the errant Assistant, once again taking in his features. Harry was borderline catatonic. His eyes were dull and unseeing as he fought a battle inside his own mind, against his own magic. His body was relaxed, limp in its casual position and his head was tilted back just far enough to reveal the scar that shaped his entire life.

Perfect.

*****

Harry awoke sluggishly. That was the only indication that he had not actually been sleeping. Years of war had conditioned him to wake up fully aware, ready for anything, but now he felt dazed.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but looking around through bleary eyes Harry could tell he was inside a very familiar room, lying on a very familiar couch, resting on a very familiar lap.

A dark and amused chuckle alerted him to the fact that the other resident of the room was aware of his consciousness, aware that he had finally returned from the jaunt inside his own mind. What Harry didn’t understand was his sudden desire to snuggle deeper into the warm confines of the body next to him, the strange urge to purr at the sensation of a hand gently running through his hair.

‘ _What the hell is happening?_ ’ He thought. Harry tried to sort through his recent memories in the hopes of gaining some insight on his current baffling circumstances.

‘ _There was a battle,_ ’ he thought. ‘ _I was fighting… again._ ’ Harry felt a cold dread coil in his stomach. He had gone too far again, he had gotten lost in his own magic and given control over to his instincts.

It would explain the fog that continued to cloud his mind, the blank spaces in his memory. But it didn’t explain what was happening now, why he was in this room, on this couch, cuddling into _Tom Riddle_.

With that thought Harry jumped from the couch, landing in an uncharacteristically ungainly heap on the floor as he tried to scramble away from the baby Dark Lord, who was currently smirking with a horrifying satisfaction.

Now more than ever, he needed to know what happened.

He looked up at Riddle from his graceless position on the floor, wondering how much he would be giving up to just _ask_ the boy. Tom seemed to be aware of his conundrum, and was thankfully willing to concede for free.

“If you haven’t already noticed, we are once again inside Salazar’s study beneath the school. It has been four days since your… confrontation, and you have been in and out of consciousness during that time.

Four days, he thought, forcing himself to keep a blank expression. Riddle was staring attentively at him, watching his every movement as though it was the most interesting thing in the world. Harry could not afford to show any signs of weakness.

Still, he couldn’t help the gulp, or the sudden sheen of sweat that broke out on the surface of his skin.

‘ _Four days,_ ’ he thought again. ‘ _It’s getting shorter._ ’ 

He had to remain unmoved, unbothered by the circumstances, the strange and irritating imbalance of power that currently existed between him and his student. Apparently, Riddle had seen him during a very personal moment of weakness. While he was thankful that Riddle was likely the only one that saw him, he was nonetheless annoyed that he had been seen at all.

Didn’t he put up wards? Why hadn’t they worked? It was possible that Riddle had broken them, but in the state Harry had been in he doubted even the young Dark Lord possessed the raw power needed to shatter those wards. Later, he would, but not now.

It was a question for another time. Meanwhile, Harry was still on the floor, which was strangely warm despite being made of stone, and Riddle was still studying him.

A quick getaway was the obvious solution.

“Well, if it’s all the same to you,” Harry stood swiftly, practical, if not smooth movements. “I’ll be leaving now.”

He immediately felt the warm presence of another standing at his back even as he exited the study through the mouth of the ostentation Founder’s statue. At the moment, it was more confusing than irritating. Riddle was not usually willing to take the role of the follower in any sense, but here he was, persistently dogging Harry’s heels.

“Look, Riddle,” he resisted the urge to sigh when he saw the expectant, wholly manufactured, expression on the teen’s face. The young Dark Lord was apparently eager for another dance.

“Yes Harry?” Even in the dim light of the Chamber, he could have sworn he saw Riddle’s eyes flash red for a moment.

“Whatever happened, I am sure it was traumatizing for all parties involved. Why don’t you go console your minions or whatever, while I go speak to… someone.” Harry honestly wasn’t sure who he’d have to talk to. His memories became hazy about halfway through the fight, but until then he made sure to keep the Professors out of sight. They probably didn’t know any more than him.

Still, he would start with the Headmaster and hope he didn’t do as much damage as last time.

“They don’t know anything.” Harry winced imperceptibly at the sound of Tom’s teasing voice. It was grating and frankly he didn’t want to deal with it.

He continued.

“They only saw the aftermath, and that only lasted a few minutes before you disappeared.”

He clenched his fists, refusing to look at the teen’s smug face. Whatever Tom had seen, Harry had no intention of talking about it with him.

He kept walking.

“Stop,” Harry felt the exact moment when Riddle’s patience wore out, when he stopped being satisfied with the charade he was playing. He felt the temperature rise and heard the crackle of magic behind him, but none of that should have been enough to stop him.

And yet he stopped.

Harry’s eyes widened as he felt the pull. It was a horrifyingly familiar sensation that tugged the very core of his being and burned up to the scar on his forehead.

It was impossible, yet the sudden bleeding said otherwise. In an instant, Harry had turned around and crossed the gap between them, kicking Tom’s legs out from under him and roughly shoving him to the ground.

“What did you do,” his voice was pathetically weak, the pain in his scar still distracting his concentration and the blood obscuring his vision. When Tom grinned, unafraid, Harry felt another bout of rage surge forth and he lifted the teen’s shoulders and slammed them back into the damp ground. “What did you do!”

Tom laughed, low and sensual, betraying his obvious amusement and utter lack of fear. Harry didn’t understand, the teen knew he could kill him, every other confrontation they’d had indicated that he would at least be wary. 

But instead Tom lifted his arms slowly, carefully encircling the still baffled Harry’s neck, his eyes shining in a distinctly predatory manner. Then, in one swift move, he wrapped his legs around Harry’s torso and threw him to the ground, taking his place on top.

Harry struggled briefly, vainly, knowing that Tom’s greater weight and height would be enough to pin him to the ground, and even more irritating was that Tom had apparently adopted his technique of augmenting his muscles with magic. The boy may be less skilled, but he was currently at least Harry’s equal in pure strength.

Tom lowered his head, allowing his lips to brush against Harry’s ear, enjoying the way he shuddered beneath him.

“You can feel it then, our connection?” He whispered, magic lacing every word, leaving Harry a writhing mess. “It’s so powerful, so strong. I can feel it, _always_.”

It was strange to see the normally composed Tom Riddle practically manic with excitement. For one, Harry noticed that Tom didn’t get excited like other people, who would normally scream and shout, maybe even hop about happily. No, instead Tom focused those feelings, holding them deep within himself and finally directing all of it towards the object of his interest.

Which, in this case, was Harry.

“You can’t escape me Harry, even our magics want us together. You can’t keep me away.” Half coherent phrases were continually whispered, magic licking his senses and setting his nerves on fire. Somewhere in the haze, Harry found the composure to notice something.

‘ _Tom hasn’t once mentioned horcruxes._ ’ He thought.

A sudden giddiness filled Harry, the kind of adrenaline filled emotion that came from dodging a bullet. Fortunately, or unfortunately, Tom noticed this as well and paused in his rapturous sweet nothings.

“You don’t know?” Harry’s laugh was tinged with a very noticeable hysteria, one which immediately put Tom on guard, but it wasn’t enough. Harry kneed the teen in the stomach, knocking the air out of him long enough to once again switch their positions.

From his place on top of Tom, Harry could see his confusion warring with annoyance and slight pain from his now bruising abdomen.

“What don’t I know Harry? Tell me!” At the very least, Harry was glad to see that both of them had lost control to a certain extent, the cause of which he wasn’t ready to confront just yet, but he’d be damned if he told Tom about it.

“That’s for me to know and you to never find out.” And with that, Harry made his getaway, moving too fast for the still winded Tom to be able to catch him, all the while ignoring the renewed pain in his forehead.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone that stuck by and waited for the sequel. I got a lot of really positive and encouraging comments so thank you so much for your support. Welcome to chapter 2, where more stuff happens.

Maen Prince was enjoying the fourth day of his sudden vacation from classes along with the rest of his Slytherin associates. He was quietly reading in the common room, half his attention on the book in front of him and half on the annoyingly familiar conversation taking place.

“Yes, but where is he? Where has he been going everyday?” With Lestrange, Malfoy and Black still out of commission Avery had been trying to muscle his way to the top of Tom’s Inner Circle. His attempts were not at all subtle, but Tom seemed to be ignoring them mostly out of amusement. Nevertheless, it had long since begun to get on everyone else’s nerves.

“I don’t know Avery. Tom hasn’t seen fit to tell us, so I haven’t asked. Maybe _you_ should go ask him or better yet, maybe you should follow him, see how that works.” Nott replied testily. 

Maen almost cracked a smile, even the always level-headed Nott had lost patience with Avery. His simpering and blatant attempts at sucking up to Tom were pathetic to everyone watching.

Avery bit his lip when he finally noticed the irritated looks of his peers. This time he spoke in a lower voice, one that indicated his words were meant only for those in the Inner Circle. 

“I’m just saying that he shouldn’t be wandering the school alone, especially not now.” Maen paused in his reading and frowned. As much as he hated to admit it, Avery was right. The school was currently crawling with Ministry officials who had nothing better to do than harass the student body as to the whereabouts of their still missing Assistant Professor.

Those of Tom’s followers that were considered his Knights all had enough political clout to ward off the petty Ministry fodder with just the sound of their names, but Tom had no such ability. If some overzealous Auror decided to hound him Tom was more than capable of talking his way out of it, but he might have a difficult time of it, and no one wanted Tom to return to the common room in a bad mood.

Speak of the devil, they were all interrupted by the sound of the portrait door opening and it seemed like Maen’s worst fears had come true. Tom entered and swiftly walked to his customary place before the fire. His eyes were hard and painfully intent, magic filled his every movement both warning and daring them to approach.

To anyone else, Tom might have seemed focused, driven even. Maen was sure that was what the Professors and the other Houses saw, but the Slytherins knew better, especially his Inner Circle.

Tom was furious.

Maen felt like a frog caught in the glare of a snake when he saw Tom’s casual gesture for them to come over, he wanted to flee but he couldn’t bring himself to move. He could feel the other eyes of the Slytherins on him as he finally forced himself to approach Tom’s place by the fire, quietly observing the proceedings. 

“Nott, your uncle is the Head of the Department of Magical Guardianship and Child Services, yes?” It wasn’t a question per say, but Elias nodded anyways mostly to avoid his Lord’s wrath.

“Excellent, you will send a letter to your uncle immediately concerning the origins of Harrison Evans.” Maen bit his tongue to avoid speaking. This was a matter between Tom and Harrison.

Prince had gained a certain level of prestige within Slytherin after Tom had seen fit to temporarily give him Abraxas’ position as prefect during the attack, but even the smallest misstep could send everything crashing down. The attack had been a pivotal moment, the power structure was completely rearranged, but he knew as well as anyone that the chain of command was just as subject to unspoken rules and alliances as it was to Tom’s whims.

If Tom wished it, Maen could go from a fairly powerful member of the Inner Circle to a pariah in mere moments.

“It will be done my Lord.” Elias had finally answered. Tom nodded, not at all appeased by the look of it, and unfortunately Avery was not _nearly_ as clever as he thought he was.

“My Lord, perhaps my family could be of some use as well.” Kanus Avery had family members inside the Department of Mysteries and the Department of Magical Disasters and Catastrophes, neither of which would be any use for what Maen suspected Tom wanted to do.

Tom turned his head away from the fireplace for the first time that night, eyes cold and hard, but glittering with a sadistic something that Maen wanted no part of.

“Nott, Prince, leave us.” He could only sigh in relief at the command. Standing as quickly as his weak legs would allow, Maen bowed at the waist and made a hasty retreat alongside Elias.

“I do hope Tom doesn’t punish him too badly. If he doesn’t recover before classes resume, I will have to make excuses for him.” Elias sounded completely indifferent to whatever suffering Avery would be enduring tonight.

Truth be told, Maen was as well. All the warning signs were there and any Slytherin worth his salt should have seen them. If Avery chose to speak up regardless of Tom’s obviously foul mood then he deserved whatever he got.

That night, the Slytherins ignored the screams coming from the dorms. Apparently, Tom didn’t think Avery was worth even Silencing Charms.

*****

Tom was angry. Torturing Avery didn’t even put a dent in his wrath. Classes would resume in less than a week and he hadn’t seen Harry since their confrontation in the Chamber of Secrets.

He knew the man was probably even now trying to plead his case to Headmaster Dippet and several bumbling Ministry officials, and Tom could have helped him do that, but Harry had rejected their connection, rejected him.

There was something he was missing, something about their connection scared Harry. The war veteran wasn’t moved by even the threat of death, and yet whatever it was that made Tom constantly aware of the man had him shaking in his boots.

There was something about their bond that Harry was terrified of Tom finding out, something big enough to make even the immovable Assistant falter. So Tom researched. He had spent the last two days practically camped out inside the Restricted Section of the Library going through every book he could find on bonds between wizards.

His conclusion was that there were essentially three types of bonds in existence: magical, blood, and soul. Magical bonds were common enough; they included marriage bonds, life debt bonds, and basically any sort of magically binding agreement made between two wizards.

Blood bonds, however, were far more rare, in addition to being illegal. Blood magic had been outlawed over a century ago, but bonds made by blood included a few complex and Dark ceremonies and often involved blood or life sacrifices of some kind.

The final type of bond was the one that had caught Tom’s interest. Soul bonds were even more notoriously rare than blood bonds purely because they couldn’t be made between any two people. They required an uncommon level of compatibility to be made successfully, otherwise they would result in both wizards’ deaths. Thus, soul magic had been outlawed over 300 years ago as well as removed from public record.

Tom was having an infuriatingly difficult time finding any substantive information on soul bonds, or even soul magic in general. Hogwarts boasted the most extensive library in all of Britain and yet it barely contained any information on the topic.

And that was when he came across a book mentioning horcruxes. It wasn’t much, but inside the book _Magicke Moste Evile_ there was a small passage.

_“The term horcrux literally means soul container. The wizard in question must commit an act of such depravity that their soul is damaged enough to remove a piece. This piece is then sealed within an object of importance. Horcruxes are considered the vilest of all magics and it is due in no small part to their infamous history. In an attempt to become immortal, several Dark wizards have used horcruxes to tie themselves to the physical plane even after they have been killed.”_

This was it! This was the method he had used, but Harry claimed that he had made seven and that it had driven him insane. That wasn’t too difficult to believe, splitting one’s soul seven times would almost certainly have some repercussions, but there was something more.

Harry had said he destroyed his horcruxes, his means of immortality. Tom suddenly remembered something else Harry had said. 

_“We managed to destroy your means of immortality, even the one bound to_ me.”

Tom smiled into the pages of his book, magic thrumming in satisfaction as though he had finally figured out something he had always known on some primal level.

Harry Potter was his.

*****

Harry drummed his fingers impatiently. He was seated at the head of a conference table, the Hogwarts Professors to his right and several Ministry officials to his left.

“One more time Mr. Evans, what did you say happened?” Harry clenched his teeth in irritation and only just barely refrained from sneering at the mousy man that had somehow become the Senior Undersecretary. Considering Umbridge had done it as well, he supposed it wasn’t actually all that surprising.

If this was a normal interrogation Harry would have no problem dealing with the fools, redirecting their questions with half-truths and the occasional outright lie, but this was no interrogation. No, this was merely a _questioning_ they said, just something to get the facts straight they said. Harry grumbled inside of his own mind, he had been forced to recap his story three times already, but apparently it wasn’t what these people wanted to hear.

Unfortunately, what they _wanted_ to hear was that there were no Reapers, that Halloween night had just been a regular attack of a few Dark wizard hooligans that were dispatched by the esteemed Hogwarts Professors in such a way that satisfied Ministry regulations.

It was pathetic.

“Once again Mr. Cumberbatch, while the Professors held the defensive line while I picked off the Reapers—“

“You claimed there were several dozen Reapers that you, a mere Assistant, single handedly defeated?” Harry could hear the mocking emphasis on the word Reaper, as though the pathetic balding man was humoring him. He had to restrain himself. Nothing good would come of strangling the man here in full view of the entire staff.

“Yes, Mr. Cumberbatch that is what I said. Have you finally processed my words or would you like me to repeat myself for a fifth time.” Harry’s smile was anything but polite. It was just a hair away from being an outright threat and the Head Undersecretary visibly gulped. 

There was whispering as the seven Ministry wizards conferred. The Professors, at least, seemed to be on his side. Most of them were still visibly wary of him—sheepish smiles, avoiding eye contact.

Galatea caught Harry’s eye and gave him a blinding grin, one which made Harry ashamed for even thinking of running away. He had given the old Defense Professor his word and no matter how bad things got, she hadn’t lied.

This was Harry’s second chance.

“Mr. Evans, you can’t honestly expect this council to believe that a significant number of _Reapers_ not only managed to enter the country undetected, but began assaulting the ancient wards of Hogwarts only to be repelled by a single Professor. Excuse me, _Assistant_ Professor.” 

Harry stared incredulously for a moment. _‘You have got to be kidding me! Am I really explaining this again?’_

The man was straight backed with long blonde hair. He was the arrogant type of pureblood that Harry hated the most and despite what the Senior Undersecretary wanted to believe, it was clear that this man was the one with the power. Unfortunately, he reminded Harry just a bit too much of Lucius Malfoy.

“I was under the impression that I was to state the truth, not what satisfies your limited imaginations.” Harry spoke through painfully clenched teeth. He was quickly approaching the end of his patience and could only hope that whatever happened next wouldn’t leave Galatea in a bad position. “Every Professor here, except Dumbledore, has verified my story. You could question me under Veritaserum and I would tell you the same thing. Would that satisfy the Ministry’s _standards_?”

Harry was a little freaked out by his sudden resemblance to a certain Potions Master, but his next outburst was interrupted by a newcomer entering the room.

*****

Albus watched as the newcomer entered the room and scrambled to the Senior Undersecretary’s side. He whispered something lowly, but whatever he said was enough to cause an extreme reaction in Jules Cumberbatch.

“What was that!” A rapid fire discussion began, one which Albus had to physically restrain himself from eavesdropping on. He had been refraining from taking part in the questioning of young Harrison Evans, if only so he could avoid undesirable questions as to his own whereabouts at that time.

When he had returned the school was in chaos, there was possibly even more commotion than during the attack itself. The Ministry had taken upon itself the task of locating the young Assistant, if only so they could ream him for answers. Harrison, Gellert, and himself were the only witnesses to the battle.

But Albus could hardly admit that.

“Harrison Evans why did you not inform us that you are the Lord of an Ancient and Noble House?” Albus did a double take.

The boy was a Lord? But how was that possible? Albus had thoroughly researched his background and he couldn't find evidence that the boy was anything more than a gifted muggleborn.

Harrison narrowed his eyes, the tension in his body increased further.

“It never came up.” Albus wanted to chastise the boy for hiding information. Even after that display on Halloween he found himself forgetting just how powerful the child was. The power he exuded could be felt through Gellert’s scrying mirror and frankly, it was daunting. The idea that the boy could conceal _that much_ magic, that he could hide and pretend to be merely _above average_ made Albus’ skin crawl.

“It has been confirmed by Gringotts. Harrison Evans is the Lord of at least one Ancient and Noble house.” Malfoy looked as though he had just smelled something foul.

“You didn’t think your status as a Lord of an Ancient and Noble house was relevant?” Head Auror Goyle asked incredulously.

“No, because it had no bearing on the battle that took place.” Harrison was visibly irritated, but Albus needed to know his origins. 

Albus still remembered that conversation. He likely would never forget. Gellert had a way of digging into his old wounds.

*****

_“Damn it all,” Gellert had forsaken his seat in favor of pacing the floor restlessly. “He’s one of yours then?”_

_Albus’ eyes widened in both confusion and relief. “No, I thought,” he paused for a moment as something dawned in his mind, “he was one of yours.” he finished._

_Gellert paused in his rage to give him a condescending smirk. “You always did favor that black and white outlook of yours.” Albus bristled at the insinuation._

_“His magic is Dark—“_

_“Dear Albus,” Gellert gave him a pitying look. “If I had the support of everyone with even an ounce of Dark magic, I would have won this war ages ago.” Gellert shook his head. “Besides, I wouldn’t even call his magic Dark. It’s more… Gray.”_

_The blonde’s eyes narrowed in focus as he looked at Harrison with much more scrutiny._

_“If I didn’t know any better I would almost say the boy looks like a Potter…” Gellert trailed off quietly. Albus had the horrible sensation that a new plan was forming in his brilliant mind, one which he couldn’t even begin to fathom._

_Gellert smiled brightly, like a child that was just given a new toy, which only enhanced Albus’ opinion that the man had already moved past what should have been a devastating defeat and begun creating several plans for the future._

_“How about a bet old friend? I bet that I can have this war wrapped up and all three Deathly Hallows by this Summer.”_

_“What is it that you are planning Gellert? Why not stop this, you’ve already lost a good chunk of your elite today. Your forces have been irreparably damaged, what is the point of continuing this war?”_

_Gellert’s smile took on a malicious edge, something that gave even Albus chills._

_“No dear Albus, this war is far from over.” He redirected his attention back to the image of Harrison Evans in the enchanted mirror. “In fact, it has barely begun.”_

*****

Whoever Harrison Evans was, if Gellert believed he was important then Albus would need to know everything there was to know about him, starting with his mysterious Lordships.

“If I may, what Lordships does young Harrison possess?” The boy shot him a glare that obviously communicated that he _may not_ , but Albus ignored it in favor of staring down Jules Cumberbatch. The man puffed up under the scrutiny.

“That, Albus, is private information.” His sudden outcry wasn’t the only one heard.

“Private information? We have a right to know what family he is Lord of, how can it be private?” Head Auror Goyle slammed his fist on the table.

“Enough!” Harrison stood from his seat, silencing the room with a single word and an angry, sweeping glare. “According to the Charter signed in 1854 a Lord may choose to remain anonymous if revealing themselves will put either the Lord and/or their family in imminent danger. As Gellert Grindelwald has been marching across the continent on a crusade for blood purity, I have chosen to take advantage of said Charter, so no Head Auror Goyle, neither you nor anyone else has _any_ right to my _private information_.”

The boy was practically spitting the words by the end, his magic just barely held in check. Albus could feel himself sweating and he could only imagine how the rest of the room felt.

“If that will be all,” Harrison hissed, striding towards the exit without a backwards glace. The door slammed behind him.

The room remained silent for another few beats before Lucien Malfoy regained his voice.

“If all the issues have been addressed, then this meeting is adjourned.” Albus was impressed that he managed to speak without his voice breaking. The Ministry officials and a few of the Professors just nodded dumbly and slowly made their way onto shaky feet.

Albus remained sitting, his blue eyes duller than they had been in years. He looked down to notice that his hands were trembling.

There was one thing he knew now for sure. Gellert could not be allowed to have Harrison Evans.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arghh! I'm so sorry everyone. This chapter took forever! I've been reading all your wonderful and motivating comments and now I feel like a scumbag for taking so long.
> 
> Long story short, I've been writing the parts of the story that take place several scenes from now, so I've been trying to fill in the blanks and it's been a bit awkward. Basically, some really interesting and important stuff happens later and I got so caught up writing it that I neglected the earlier chapters, and for that I apologize.
> 
> The next chapter will not take as long... I hope.

“Alright, I hope everyone has been practicing, because when class ends I want to see the state of your Patronus spells. You should be able to at least create mist by now.” Harry stalked through the aisles, correcting pronunciation and technique. 

Tom watched him move intently, idly casting the spell while impatiently waiting for the end of class, waiting for the room to empty and Harry to be trapped inside with him. 

Tom had allowed him a few days reprieve after his discovery. He could now understand why the man was so desperate to keep that secret, but he had given away too much, and now Tom would not allow him to run.

“That’s enough for today. Anyone that wasn’t able to make even mist better have it figured out by next week. Consider it an in class exam.” Harry produced a feral grin, one which sent shivers down Tom’s spine. He had to force himself not to return the gesture.

Not yet.

Harry began packing his materials, more skittish than usual, and Tom knew why. Their soul bond allowed them to know where the other was at all times, perhaps even more than that. Harry could likely feel Tom slowly closing in on him, stalking his way towards the jumpy Assistant.

Tom slammed on hand on the wall, drawing Harry’s downturned face up in surprise. “That was a good class,” he breathed, his focus drawn to the soft, pale skin on the man’s neck.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” he answered skeptically. Harry, _dear Harry_ , still thought there was an information vacuum, that his secret had remained exactly that.

Tom would take great pleasure in disabusing him of that notion.

“We never finished our conversation before.” He took another step, closing the distance. He hadn’t been able to feel his Harry’s magic for _days_ , to touch him…

Tom discreetly grit his teeth as powerful Occlumency shields fell into place, tightening his restraint. He couldn’t afford to lose control yet.

“I don’t really consider what happened before ‘conversing.’” Harry answered, still taking great care not to meet Tom’s eyes.

“Oh? Then why don’t you show me how it’s done?”

“Tom—“ Harry closed his eyes and sighed deeply. “You don’t know what this is. The thing between us—“

“I know exactly what it is my little horcrux.” Harry froze, his face was suddenly devoid of all expression. He was disturbingly blank for such an emotional person.

“What did you just say?” Tom shook off any feelings of unease and continued, smirking cockily as he encircled the Assistant.

“You gave me too many hints, Harry. I figured it out. You are my horcrux. _Mine_.” Tom’s eyes darkened to a stormy blue, his pupils dilating as he contemplated just how true that was.

Harry was stiff, eyes staring straight forward but somehow looking through Tom entirely. He didn’t like that. Harry’s attention should always be on him. Always.

“I’m not,” Harry muttered. Petulant, Tom thought. He wouldn’t let Harry deny it, not anymore.

“You are,” he said firmly.

~I’m not!~ Tom shivered at the sound of the parseltongue and abruptly found himself shoved against the wall, held in place by a single hand around his neck. It was reminiscent of Halloween night, but this time things were different.

Tom lifted his unrestrained arms and with one hand pulled back the man’s bangs while the other pressed against the infamous scar.

Many things happened at once. Harry gasped and tried to pull back, but Tom had a firm grip on the back of the man’s head keeping it in place. Meanwhile, Tom threw his head back as he was wracked with the most incredible sensations. Their magic sparked, filling the entirety of the empty room. The longer they stayed together the further the cloud expanded.

Harry only remained coherent through previous experience and sheer force of will. He managed to push back from the Tom, ending whatever phenomenon that had begun, draw his wand and Apparate away before he could be stopped.

What was left behind was a room filled with potent magic and very angry teen.

*****

Harry was dreaming, restless and tormented dreams. He was in a familiar part of the Forbidden Forest, the Resurrection Stone glinting on the leaves behind him, walking towards his own death.

The clearing was just ahead. Harry knew the lines to this play, he knew all the scenes by heart. He knew what would happen next. 

He stepped forward, closer to his murderer, waiting for the inevitable.

“Why don’t we try something different this time, Harry?”

He blinked. That wasn’t right. By now he should have been dead, the killing curse fired directly at his chest expelling his soul as well as the Dark Lord’s horcrux from his body.

“Did you really think it would be that easy, that you would come here and I would kill you thereby destroying my own horcrux?”

Harry paled. _‘No, he can’t know. I have to die! He has to kill me!’_

“I don’t have to do anything my Harry.”

The haze of the dream had begun to leave Harry’s mind, he started to see the obvious differences in the scene. For one, Voldemort was far closer to him than he had been originally, only a few feet separated them, the other Death Eaters weren’t there as well, but most importantly Voldemort didn’t look like Voldemort.

He looked like Tom Riddle.

“You utter bastard!” Tom grinned cheekily at his response. 

“You have no right to be here,” he continued. “I _died_ to get him out of my head! You have no right!” Harry hadn’t been this angry in years. Had this not been a dream the entire area would have been leveled by his magic, but Harry was tempted to just punch him instead.

“I can see that,” Tom was suddenly serious. “It never went away Harry. I suspect the only reason my future self didn’t notice was because his soul was so unstable.”

Harry’s thoughts were racing. He was stuck between dealing with the emotions associated with the new revelation and rationally looking back on every dealing he had with Voldemort that could possibly refute what Tom had said.

He remembered when they had received intel on Voldemort attempting to make another horcrux. He remembered being told that the Dark Lord had failed for some reason that no one could figure out. Harry had suspected that he had succeeded and was merely hiding the existence of his new horcrux right up until the moment when he saw the man die for the final time.

“Splitting his soul seven times and remaining in that state for a prolonged period even after several of the shards were destroyed basically nullified whatever advantage the horcruxes gave him. He did not return because his soul was so damaged that it couldn’t recognize and latch onto the connection that the fragment within you made. But I can.”

It made sense. It made far too much sense.

Harry reared back and punched Tom; his nose broke with a satisfying crunch that echoed throughout the empty clearing. The damage wouldn’t last. Harry knew all it would take was a thought to heal the wound, but he was glad that the bastard at least felt the initial pain.

“What the hell do you want?” Harry hissed through clenched teeth, just barely stopping himself from slipping into parseltongue again.

Tom held his nose for a moment, tilting his head back before removing his hand to reveal that it had been completely healed.

“I want you to stop running.”

“No, what you want is _me_ on a _leash_! Perhaps at the foot of your throne? That’s what you want Tom, isn’t it? A _pet_!” Harry was practically spitting fire by this point. He wound up to hit the teen again, but this time Tom was ready for it and Harry was held back by some unseen force.

“I am not him!” Tom stalked forwards forcibly pushing down the arms of the frozen Harry until they were at his sides. “I am not him, Harry.” He began rubbing his thumbs in soothing circles on the skin of Harry’s arms. Oddly enough, it calmed Harry somewhat.

“That man was mad. He had split his soul _seven times_. Whatever was left of him was barely human. I am not that man.” And for a second Harry almost believed him, but the anger at the violation of his mind was still fresh and it must have shown in his expression because Tom grimaced.

“I apologize for the invasion of privacy, but I will not apologize for the _existence_ of my _soul_. You once said that you believed I could be great, that if I didn’t lose my mind making horcruxes I could easily conquer magical Britain. Was that a lie?”

‘ _Damn him,_ damn him _for turning this around!_ ’ Harry cursed his lack of skill in Occlumency. He couldn’t wrestle control of the dream from Tom no matter how much he desperately wanted to. _Tom_ was the trespasser, _Tom_ was the one that destroyed his childhood and forced him to die willingly. So why the hell was he the one suddenly in the wrong!

That’s not right, an annoyingly rational voice in his head reminded him. It was exactly as Tom said, he wasn’t Voldemort. Harry had been judged his entire life for not being the perfect Savoir, not being the Golden Boy.

He needed to stop comparing Tom to Voldemort. Tom wasn’t Voldemort. Harry wouldn’t go as far as saying that Tom would _never_ be Voldemort, but at the very least he wasn’t _yet_.

Harry closed his eyes and took a deep breath, counted to ten in his mind, and relaxed in his invisible bindings.

“You have five minutes.”

*****

Tom used those five minutes to give Harry a basic run down of his goals. It was edited, of course. He didn’t think Harry would appreciate his complete intolerance of muggles, but everything else was being put on the table.

He was giving Harry everything, no tricks, no lies.

It was symbolic gesture on his part, a show of his willingness to be open with Harry in the future. He wouldn’t stop manipulating; he couldn’t, it was in his blood, his upbringing, far too ingrained to be removed now, but he would never outright lie to Harry.

His five minutes were up fairly quickly. To be honest, Tom hadn’t expected Harry to give him even that much time. The fact that the man was still surprising him was a source of both intrigue and frustration.

“So,” Harry sighed and took a seat on the ground, uncaring of the dirt and leaves beneath him.

“So?” Tom returned, equal parts curious and expectant.

“What happens now?” 

That was the question wasn’t it. At some point he had considered making Harry one of his Knights, but that idea was quickly scrapped. Harry’s previous meltdown only further emphasized this fact: Harry could not be controlled.

Even so, Tom would not allow the man to be indifferent to him. Harry was his horcrux, _his_. He could tell that the man was compartmentalizing that information otherwise their current discussion would likely have been far more explosive.

They belonged together. That’s what their magic had been trying to tell them every time they had interacted.

Tom needed some obvious way to tie Harry to him without incensing the dangerously independent man. He felt as though he was trying to bottle a storm; it was probably just as easy, but he would find a way.

He had to.

“Keep teaching Defense, at least until the end of the year.”

“I intended to.” Tom smiled indulgently, in a way he knew would anger the man. It worked.

“Then you won’t mind continuing the Dueling Club as well.” Harry’s eye twitched in the way it only did when Harry knew he was being manipulated but couldn’t think of a good way to stop it.

“Only if you don’t mind the non-Slytherin members.” Tom narrowed his eyes and gave Harry a short nod. The sentiment was clear: _touché_

‘ _Minerva!_ ’ Tom suddenly remembered that the Gryffindor girl had been in close proximity to Harry during his little episode on Halloween. If it was anyone else Tom could manage explaining away the incident, but Minerva wasn’t just anyone, and while she wasn’t nearly at the same level as Tom, she had little patience for Slytherin subtly.

She would want an explanation, one which would satisfy her.

Harry cocked his head to the side questioningly. Tom was slightly taken aback by the way the movement made him seem so young. Normally the man had a weariness to him, an aged quality that Tom assumed came from being at the forefront of a war, but for now that was gone, and Harry seemed younger than ever.

Tom wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

“Well, as long as we are being civil, would you mind answering a question?”

“Depends on the question.” Harry eyed him suspiciously and Tom had to repress a smirk. There were still several things that he knew Harry would be unwilling to speak about so he had to word this carefully.

“How about a question for a question? I’ll start.”

“Are you wondering how I managed to keep teaching here even after everything that happened?” Tom refrained from commenting on that for now. If Harry knew how much of the Ministry’s sudden acceptance of him Tom was actually responsible for he’d have another argument to deal with. 

“I’m more interested in how you managed to Apparate inside of Hogwarts’ wards. I was under the impression that it was impossible.” Harry snorted and shrugged nonchalantly, somehow looking completely comfortable on the cold ground of the Forbidden Forest.

“I know Hogwarts far too well to be hindered by her wards.” Tom wanted to take some time to analyze that statement, but there was much more he wanted to ask the man and he only had so much time before Harry cut off their dialogue.

“What are you planning on doing when you graduate?”

Tom opened his mouth to answer but actually found himself hesitating. What would he do? His original plan had been to return as the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor. It was his favorite subject and he had known that Professor Merrythought was intending to retire, so it had just seemed like the most natural option.

But now Harry was here, and not only would he probably be the next Defense Professor, but he had completely obliterated some of his other plans as well. Tom had wanted to be immortal by this time of year. If he had used horcruxes, he would have been.

Horcruxes, though, now seemed like such a lackluster solution to an age old problem. There were a few other possibilities, of course, the Philosopher’s Stone, perhaps even the Deathly Hallows, but information on those avenues of immortality was even more scarce.

So now Tom was left with a conundrum. He fully intended to take over magical Britain; he had been forging connections in the Ministry through his Knights and he needed to be ready to step into the limelight at some point, but for that he wanted some kind of safety net. Tom didn’t want to be in the line of fire without a back-up plan, and he still needed to figure out how Harry would fit into all of this.

*****

Tom had fallen into a thoughtful silence that stretched out for several long minutes. Harry was content to allow the teen much needed time to find the answer to his question.

Harry could feel himself waking up; it was a ripple at the edge of his consciousness. Tom could probably force him to stay asleep if he wanted to, but Harry hoped he knew that if he tried anything like that it would end whatever cordiality that currently existed between them.

“I’ll leave you with your thoughts for now, but the next time we speak I’ll expect an answer.” Tom nodded distractedly and Harry felt the dream come apart at the seams and fade into darkness.

He opened his eyes blearily, annoyed by the persistent knocking at his door. Harry turned onto his side and ignored it in the hopes that whoever was brave enough to disturb him this early wasn’t tenacious enough to stay.

Unfortunately, the knocking only grew more determined, increasing in volume by several decibels. Harry was finally at the point where he could ignore it no longer.

He stood from his bed, hair wild and untamed, and walked the door in three strides. Throwing the door open, he tried to convey his displeasure in every aspect of his appearance.

“What!”

He was met with the sight of a painfully cheerful Dumbledore.

“Good morning Harrison, I was just here to invite you to breakfast.” Harry leaned on the door frame and silently cursed the universe and all of its inhabitants.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to chapter 4. I recently discovered that Minerva McGonagall attended Hogwarts from 1947-1954, a few years after Tom. So, for the sake of the story let's say that Minerva and Tom are the same age and year. 
> 
> Onto the story!

“I would love to. Just give me a few minutes to get ready.” Harry gave his future Headmaster a smile which probably came out looking more like a grimace.

“Of course, my boy. I’ll just—“ the rest was cut off by the sound of the door slamming closed, leaving Dumbledore out in the hall mid-sentence gaping like a fish.

Or at least, that’s how Harry imagined he looked.

The sanctity of his room had been compromised. Not only did Tom know where it was, but now Dumbledore had decided that it was okay to wake him at the unholy hour of six a.m. to request _breakfast_ of all things.

Harry was giving serious consideration to leaving the old man and going back to sleep, but that thought was soon discarded. He knew better than anyone that Dumbledore would not be deterred. He would only become more persistent and overt in his attempts at manipulation.

He had a fairly good idea what his future Headmaster was hoping to gain from all this. The irony was that Harry was all too familiar with the old man’s thought processes. He had probably decided at some point after Harry's _inquisition_ that his newly revealed status as the Lord of an unknown Ancient and Noble House gave him a certain level of political desirability. This was the point in Dumbledore’s life when he had begun forging connections, much the same way Tom was, taking aside students that showed progress and insinuating himself into their lives so that when the time came they would live and die on his word alone.

No one was privy to Dumbledore’s endgame, and it had gotten Harry killed.

He smirked into the darkness of his room. Tom had done his best to gain Harry’s allegiance. Apparently, he had been somewhat successful because at this point there was no way Harry would _ever_ choose Dumbledore.

If it came down to a decision between Tom and Dumbledore, Harry would much rather create his own side.

If Dumbledore thought he could manipulate him he was in for a surprise.

*****

Albus was many things; he had hoped patience was among his virtues. Regardless, whatever patience he did hold was being tested the longer he had to foolishly wait outside of Harrison’s door.

It had been about 45 minutes since he had given his, admittedly early, wake up call. Albus entertained the thought that the boy was choosing to ignore him, but that couldn’t be true. He could hear the telltale signs of someone getting ready through the wood of the door.

From what he knew about Harrison, he had expected the boy to get ready in maybe 10 minutes and come out fully exuding reluctance and irritability. Perhaps his shirt would be wrinkled and his face messy and unshaven, his already wild hair a tragedy upon his head, but now Albus could tell that the boy was actually preparing, even putting a genuine effort into his appearance for a breakfast he had no desire to attend.

It felt like a scheme. 

At the 57 minute mark, just as Albus had been preparing to take his chances with the boy’s wards and force his way inside, the door slammed open, and what he saw almost made his jaw drop.

“I’m ready Professor, let’s go.” Harrison spoke pleasantly, none of his previous lack of enthusiasm present in his voice.

Albus’ thoughts floundered for a moment.

“Of course, my boy.” He couldn’t even protest when Harrison took the lead, forcing Albus to trail behind him like a puppy begging for affection.

 _‘What is this?’_ He had taken great care to watch the Assistant, wanting to know as much as he could about the otherwise unknown element, and everything he had learned about the boy ran counter to what he looked like right now.

Harrison’s appearance was well groomed, his back straight with confidence as he took long but certain strides. He was garbed in a cloak of finely tailored silk, black with complex silver and gold designs woven into the embroidery. His hair was combed into an effortless sort of controlled chaos, the once sloppy locks partially braided with several glimmering black beads.

The final punch to the gut was at his back. In between the boy’s shoulder blades and continuing down his back were not one, but _three_ obscured images which were unmistakably family crests. Try as he may, Albus could not penetrate the illusion blurring the images. It was powerful, _family magic_ that even he couldn’t hope to overcome at a moment’s notice.

Harrison was abandoning his mask of obscurity, his near constant insistences that he was nothing but a normal wizard were being slipped off like a cloak and discarded.

Albus had several of his plans banking on the fact that Harrison would not want his status ousted to the student body under any circumstances, and here he was dashing those plans with nothing but a few minutes consideration.

“We’re here Professor. After you,” Harrison gave a small bow as he opened the door, one which Albus knew was mocking. He swallowed down the bitter pill that was the consequences of his incorrect assumptions and allowed himself to file into the now mostly full Great Hall with a terse nod.

Harrison followed him inside, seemingly unaware of the almost instantaneous reactions of the gossipy student body.

Albus’ pride gave way to his curiosity and he was finally forced to voice the question on everyone’s minds.

“What brought about this change?” Harrison turned to look at him with the sort of wide-eyed innocence that was completely out of place on his face. Albus grinned, both cheerful and indulgent, as though he were in on the joke as well.

“It is rather sudden, my boy. I had thought you preferred your anonymity.”

Harrison chuckled lowly, a dark expression flashed across his face too quickly Albus to discern what it was.

“I have simply decided that I would much rather live my life under scrutiny than allow certain people use my desire for privacy as a means of blackmail.”

And that was the crux of the matter wasn’t it. This was simply a ploy to remove whatever hold Albus may have had over the boy, and a clever one at that. He would have been impressed if he wasn’t so damn annoyed.

“Oh?” He asked, feigning curiosity. “Who would dare?” Harrison smirked once more, looking oddly comfortable in his new guise.

“Let’s not dance around the subject Professor. If you wish to play games with me, just know that it will be on my terms.”

Albus gritted his teeth and forced himself to smile.

“Quite.”

Harrison turned his attention back to his breakfast, manners and etiquette that had previously gone ignored were picked up and used as though they had been there all along.

The meal was chaotic. Every student seemed to have some interest in the new Assistant Professor Evans, his change drastic enough to be noticed by even the slowest of individuals. Some of them were confused, unable to understand why Harrison had not appeared this way to begin with. Some were curious, several Slytherins kept a watchful eye on the Assistant, perhaps planning to report the event back to their conspicuously absent leader. Galatea raised her glass, playfully saluting her Assistant’s new makeover, which she wholly approved of.

In the center of all of this was Harrison Evans, green eyes glinting with a spirited mischief that sent ripples throughout the entire castle.

*****

“Come on Harrison! You hardly get out at all! Besides, everyone knows that Slytherin throws the best parties.” The pale skinned girl with wild black curls wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.

Harry wasn’t sure how, but at some point he had won the approval of the incredibly stringent Walburga Black. Harry’s only memories of the woman had been of her painting, incredibly loud and high pitched insults directed at anyone that had dared to enter her field of vision.

The young Walburga wasn’t all that different, she was still painfully intolerant of anyone beneath her standards, but for some reason she had decided that Harry was a person of interest and had endeavored to spend more time with him. Along the way, Harry found himself becoming fond of her sharp tongue and quick wit.

News of his hidden Lordships, _plural_ , had spread throughout the school, aided by Tom no doubt, and suddenly many of his students went from merely tolerating him to outright liking him.

The end result was that he suddenly had the respect, and in some cases, the admiration of many of the Slytherins. Part of it was due to interference on Tom’s part, but for the life of him Harry still couldn’t figure out why he would bother.

What exactly did Tom expect to get out of all of this?

Regardless, Harry hadn’t been approached by the young Dark Lord since he had given his ultimatum. Rather, Tom seemed to be avoiding him.

“The match against Gryffindor is tonight and we intend to win,” Walburga sneered on the name of her rival house. “So, you absolutely _must_ come to the after party. It’s guaranteed to be… eventful.”

Harry raised an eyebrow at the girl, he was pretty sure he didn’t like the sound of that.

Despite Tom’s lack of physical presence, Harry could feel the teen’s influence in almost everything happening around him. The sudden influx of Slytherins surrounding him often enough to imply his allegiance with the House was just one of the many moves happening around him.

Harry felt like a piece on the center of a chessboard, both sides closing in around him. It was only obligation and a certain fondness for Galatea that kept him from walking off the board entirely.

“What if Gryffindor wins? Should I feel obligated to go to their in-House celebration?” The question had the desired effect of halting girl’s rapid fire planning session as she turned to give Harry a searing glare. It was almost funny how much of Sirius he could see in that gaze.

“Don’t worry Walburga, if you don’t want that to happen then all you have to do is win the game.” Harry teased the only female member of the Slytherin Quidditch team. He had only recently discovered that Walburga was an avid Quidditch player and a _fantastic_ chaser. Considering she was competing with all the boys on the other teams she was especially skilled, and not above playing a little dirty.

The young Black was not amused by his quip and huffed in disapproval before continuing to plan out the evening after the game.

“The after party is one thing, but will you be coming to the actual game as well?” The question came from the usually subdued Maen. Prince generally didn’t speak to him, content with observing him quietly, but apparently Tom had decided he needed an escort because the Slytherin had been following him for most of the week.

“I never took you as the type to be into Quidditch, Prince.” Harry knew that Maen would have flushed had he been any other person, but he was an ancestor of Snape, his _uncle_. Harry really couldn’t expect an open display of emotions.

“I’m not, but this is a very important game, Gryffindor vs Slytherin. I would be remiss if I did not attend and you would as well.”

The two students had discovered one Harry’s more accessible retreats, a little windowed nook on the fifth floor, and made themselves comfortable under the excuse that he was helping them with their homework. Something which would be utterly absurd to anyone that knew him.

A small discussion had begun and they had stumbled onto the topic of Quidditch which, to Walburga’s delight, Harry felt rather passionately about. He wondered if he should just tell them that he had every intention of going to the game before they even asked. In the end, he decided against it, simply enjoying their attempts at convincing him far too much.

“I don’t know,” he mused, repressing a grin. “The weather will be ghastly on Friday, I’m not sure it’s worth it.”

“It’s the last game before the holidays and _everyone_ will be there.” Walburga shot back, a searching expression in her eyes. Harry paused a moment, noticing that Maen mirrored the look.

“Everyone, huh,” Harry voice was almost too quiet to be heard as he considered the implications of what his two minders were telling him.

‘Everyone’ meant Tom would be there as well.

*****

~What should I do Anassa?~ Tom’s voice was swallowed by the stillness of the Chamber of Secrets. He was gently stroking the scales on the Basilisk’s head, his thoughts a thousand miles away, twisted and confused on all fronts.

~What is the problem heir? I shall do all that I can to fix it.~ Tom smiled gratefully at the massive serpent. There wasn’t much she could do to help, but he appreciated the offer.

The problem wasn’t really a problem at all. Harry had given him an ultimatum, a minimum requirement for his involvement. He wanted to know Tom’s plans.

Until recently, that would have been a simple matter, but much had changed, all beginning and ending with Harry.

~I know what I want. I want wizards to move _forwards_. We have so much _potential_ Anassa, and it is wasted on ignorance. I want wizards to be as great as I know they can be, starting with Britain.~

~Then do it, heir. I have felt your magic, there is little you cannot accomplish with it.~

~But how Anassa!~ Tom winced, a little guilty at the way he’d snapped. He was beginning to feel the frustration at his own lack of options.

Wizarding Britain could not be taken through war, Harry was living proof of that. If not him, then someone else likely would have stepped into the role of the hero and killed him eventually. Even if he succeeded Tom would be constantly fighting off rebels and dissent in the population.

But what else was there? A political takeover would be a slow process, one which would be constantly hindered by Dumbledore and his self-serving beliefs as well as arrogant purebloods who would never willingly follow a half-blood. Tom’s Knights of Walpurgis could only do so much.

That was why he had created the moniker Voldemort. It was more than just a way to distance himself from his muggle ancestry, it was also a way to become more than just a half-blood, more than a man.

Voldemort was an entity, a powerful creation in and of itself. The very utterance of the name could strike fear in the hearts of his followers.

Vol-de-Mort: flight from Death. It was now a constant reminder of his future self’s greatest failing.

~I fear death Anassa. I don’t want to die before my work is complete, the very thought of it terrifies me.~ Tom surprised himself with his own admission. He felt oddly comfortably with the Basilisk. He knew she was loyal, but she was also soothing in a completely different way from Harry.

~But I also don’t want to let my fear of death get in the way of my ambitions.~ That was apparently his future self’s biggest mistake. Tom would not fall into the same trap.

The great serpent nodded thoughtfully, comfortably coiled on the stone floor of the Chamber as Tom leaned against her.

Despite what Harry thought, Tom had seen the beginning and the end of the memory he had chosen to alter when appearing to the man in his dreams. It was chilling, truly awesome in every sense of the word, the way Harry could come face to face with his own death and step forwards.

 _“I am going to die.”_ The words had rung through his head, they were spoken with such a finality that Tom had found himself doubting the fact of Harry’s survival. And then the man had stepped into the clearing, voice proud and unmoved even when faced with his murderer.

 _“Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived.”_ Voldemort’s cold voice had washed over him, a tainted reflection, the way he had tilted his head as he looked at Harry, red eyes gauging the threat in front of him with a mechanical sort of indifference before he raised his wand, yew and Phoenix feather, and ended Harry’s life with a wave of green.

His shock had almost ripped him out of Harry’s mind at that point. As it were, he was merely left shaken with the impact of the event, the constant and unmistakable similarities between himself and his snake-like future counterpart.

 _‘I am not him. He was less than human, far less. I will never become him.’_ Perhaps if he kept repeating it, eventually it would miraculously become true.

~Salazar had much the same fears. I do not completely understand the human fear of death. As a basilisk I have always known when and how I would die, it is to be expected.~ 

Tom was only mildly surprised by the revelation. He had suspected that something of that nature was the case when Anassa had first revealed that she remembered being killed by Harry in the distant future.

~Did you ever think that maybe you could avoid it, that by knowing about it you could somehow prevent your own death.~ Tom’s voice was small and child-like, disturbingly fragile. Anassa sighed, as much as a snake could, and coiled more tightly around her young heir, intent on protecting him from the world around him.

~No. My only regret was that I was unable to protect you. That future no longer exists though, and I will no longer be killed by Harry, but my death is no less unavoidable.~

Tom nodded solemnly and lay back more fully against Anassa’s cool scales, unconsciously seeking the comfort they provided.

~Thank you Anassa, I think… I know the answer I will give Harry now.~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, another chapter done. For those of you that were hoping to see more of the Basilisk, here you go. I really enjoy writing Anassa.
> 
> I've had a few people ask me why Tom didn't sick the Basilisk on the Reapers at the end of 'Times of Peace.' There are a few reasons actually; first of all, Tom doesn't want his status as the heir of Slytherin to get out just yet, otherwise he would have told his knights and classmates thereby securing his standing. Also, at no point during that fight did Harry look like he was having any trouble. I thought it was pretty obvious just how outclassed the Reapers were. Third, if Tom had suddenly revealed he had a giant Basilisk under his control he would have ended up under scrutiny from both Dumbledore and the Ministry. They probably would have demanded that the Basilisk be killed to protect the students. It just wouldn't have been a good idea to get the Basilisk involved.
> 
> Fun fact: Anassa is the feminine form of Anax, which Ancient Greek for King or tribal leader. The other word for this is Basileus, or the feminine form Basilissa, meaning Queen or Empress, which is where the word Basilisk comes from. The more you know.
> 
> One last thing, for those of you that like to make predictions on what will happen next there was a bit of a red herring in this chapter which will end up being important later. I will leave it to you to figure out, but I'm interested in seeing who will get it. You have to be an avid reader of the books (or the wiki page) to notice it.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woah a new chapter, that took forever. I apologize for the delay, but characterization-wise, this chapter is very important. There will probably only be one or two other chapters that even remotely as important to the developing relationship between Tom and Harry, so I really wanted to make it perfect. Please enjoy.

Harry rather thought the two Quidditch teams looked like packs of ravenous dogs ready to tear each other to shreds.

“When we get out there, we are going to _eviscerate_ them!” Was the battle cry that none other than Walburga Black intoned as she flew onto the field.

Harry smiled fondly, remembering his own Quidditch days. This may be before much of the prejudice against Slytherins, but the rivalry between the House of Lions and the House of Snakes was still going strong.

He was seated in one of the Slytherin stands, but not for lack of trying. Unfortunately, several uncharacteristically chatty students managed to get to him as he was heading for the Professors and herded him towards the side of green. It was another power play on their part, a way of showing everyone that Harry was their supporter, and it was swiftly become more annoying than amusing.

“I want a clean match.” The flight instructor and Referee, a stern man who Harry had never seen before now, gave a glare to both sides before having the two captains shake hands.

This part never failed to bring out a smile, like Oliver Wood and Marcus Flint of the future, both Charlus Potter and Alphard Black seemed to be trying to break the other’s hand. The ‘handshake’ continued to increase in ferocity until Referee had to forcibly separate the two boys.

Harry laughed, he couldn’t help it, but for a few precious minutes Harry had laughed completely and genuinely. It brought a certain lightness to him, both laughing and Quidditch, and Harry was pleased by their return.

“Rosier has the Quaffle! He dodges past Weasley, but Bones is hot on his tail. Oh, Bones has just been taken out by a Bludger from Jugson! Nasty Beater, that one. 

“Rosier is coming up to the rings. He shoots! Intercepted by McGonagall! Where did she even come from! McGonagall is racing to the other side of the pitch. She dodges Black—that’s Walburga Black, by the way—she passes another Black—this one’s Alphard. She shoots, she scores! And Gryffindor takes the lead! Blimey what a beautiful maneuver.”

Harry watched as Alphard reamed the Slytherin Keeper for allowing a goal through before turning his gaze back to what was happening above the game. He enjoyed all the parts of Quidditch, but Harry was a Seeker at heart. He always would be.

Thus, he was far more interested in what the Snitch was doing.

He had caught a glimpse of it a few minutes ago staying low to the ground, but neither of the Seekers had seen it so he kept his mouth shut as Hopkins and McNair continued their search.

“McGonagall has the Quaffle again. It looks like she’s gearing up for another goal. She dodges a Bludger, then another one, but oh! Walburga Black has just collided with Mcgonagall, knocking the Quaffle right out of her hands. That was the clearest case of Blatching I’ve ever seen, but the Ref has not called foul!”

The Slytherins roared in protest at the announcer, some cheering the decision of the Ref. This seemed to be the one occasion in which Slytherins were allowed to be as noisy and outspoken as they wanted.

Harry thought it was adorable.

The sounds were familiar, the roar of the students and Professors as their respective teams fought for control of the game. This was a type of combat as well. More playful and having less consequences, but combat nonetheless.

Harry wondered if he could be satisfied by it, by the simplicity of Quidditch. Maybe then he wouldn’t wake up disoriented, wondering when was the last time he was fully conscious.

He doubted it.

“Is this seat taken?”

Harry looked up, mildly surprised by the steadiness of the teen’s gaze, the surety of his expression. Whenever Tom had looked at him before it had always been with a degree of uncertainty, a wariness that came from being right next to one’s own murderer.

Oddly enough, that uncertainty was gone. Tom stood before him, confident as he was firm, and without any further discussion, took the purposefully empty seat beside Harry, as though it was his right.

Harry raised a single eyebrow at the action before silently turning his attention back to the game. He had given his ultimatum, now the next move was Tom’s.

*****

“Why are we even here? I have no interest in this nonsense.” Abraxas muttered petulantly, though if anyone brought it up he would deny it. Silvus Lestrange rolled his eyes discreetly, refraining from looking back at the Malfoy heir, who he knew was currently pouting.

“We’re here because it’s Slytherin vs. Gryffindor, but more importantly Walburga is playing.”

This time Silvus couldn’t repress the snort. Orion gave him a withering glare before dismissing him entirely, utterly focused on the form of the female Chaser.

“Okay, but then why are we _here_?” The implications of the question were clear. Abraxas was asking why the three of them had been relegated to the lower half of the stands rather than the higher seats that the majority of the upper years occupied.

Again, Silvus didn’t answer, partially out of spite and annoyance, but mostly because the answer was obvious. They had been demoted, lost their standing in the eyes of their peers. Or rather, Abraxas and Orion had.

Silvus was not in nearly as dire straits as his two companions, for the simple reason that he had earned Tom’s approval at the last minute. Otherwise, Silvus had no doubt that he would be learning the same hard lesson as the other two.

Abraxas had taken it the hardest, returning from the Healing Wing anxious and strained as he awaited his punishment. Tom had been neither merciful nor forgiving.

Orion, on the other hand, had never been a big fan of the Slytherin rules of etiquette. He was not subtle, or reserved, or even all that ambitious. Being lower on the totem pole, he suddenly found himself with far more freedom than before and he thoroughly enjoyed being able to act without needing to think of the impact it would have on his Lord.

Regardless, both were the heirs to their families and both had sworn fealty to Tom and his goals, thus they were now in a certain kind of limbo.

They were too valuable to dismiss outright, but their actions proved they were too reckless to be trusted with anything of importance. At least, for the moment.

That’s where Silvus came in. Tom had told him, in not so many words, to keep an eye on Malfoy and Black. Ensure that they caused no trouble, but allow them the illusion of choice.

Lestrange was all too happy to obey his Lord.

“Watch the game Abraxas,” Silvus finally turned to look at the Malfoy heir fully, his dark blue eyes piercing and disturbingly perceptive. “It is sure to be the main point of conversation tonight.”

Malfoy froze for a moment, suddenly hesitant in the face of that gaze, but the moment passed and the blonde huffed in annoyance.

“Really? Are you sure Evans’ status as a Lord won’t be of greater interest?” Silvus allowed a smirk to show itself. Abraxas was fishing for information, working under the reasonable assumption that Tom knew something about the Lordships. While that was all too likely, Tom had not seen fit to share that information.

If only it were that easy.

“Yes, I’m sure Evans’ debut will be a topic of interest as well,” he said noncommittally.

Abraxas gave him a scrutinizing look, searching his expression for any signs of tells. Silvus made sure to keep himself very still.

“What do you think Orion?” Malfoy turned away suddenly, seemingly disengaging from his conversation with Silvus. “What Houses could Evans be the Lord of?”

Orion’s eyes stayed trained on the game. “Considering the fact that no one, not even the Ministry or the Professors were able penetrate the obscuring wards around the family crests on his back, it’s very likely that at least one of the Houses he’s Lord of is part of the Sacred 28.”

Malfoy looked as though he wanted to protest, but he visibly restrained himself, probably understanding that what Orion had said was true. The wards around the crests were _Olde Magicke_ , mostly unusable by modern wizards and only available in the deepest recesses of certain ancient family libraries. Even families like the Dumbledores or the Parkinsons wouldn't have access to that type of magic as families tended to guard it fiercely.

“Of the Sacred 28, the only Houses currently without known Lords are Burke, Gaunt, Selwyn, and Shafiq, so that narrows it down. But I’ve been giving it some thought and I’ve come to the conclusion that in order to gain the cooperation of the Goblins the family would have to be fairly prestigious. More so than even the Blacks or the Malfoys because. At least one of the Houses is probably one of the older ones that were thought to be extinct.”

Lestrange froze. Apparently, Orion payed far more attention than anyone realized. He may have been foolish and impulsive, but Orion was still a Black, and the Blacks prided themselves on their intimate knowledge of pureblood history. There was no doubt in Silvus’ mind that the seemingly lazy boy could be ruthlessly intelligent when he wanted to be.

“He could be from a foreign family. Why does the family have to be British?” Silvus threw out the comment, wondering where it would take them.

“It has to be a British family or else he wouldn’t have been able to use that Charter. It only applies to British wizarding families that are in danger of persecution.” Orion finally turned away from game, narrowing his gray eyes, “but you would already know that Lestrange.”

Silvus allowed a smile to play off his lips. Orion was learning even faster than Abraxas.

Speaking of Abraxas, the blonde had descended into deep thought.

“So he’s the Lord of three Houses, one of which has to be at least as old as those of the Sacred 28 to be able to throw off any attempts at breaking the family magic and another is likely an Ancient House that was thought to be extinct. But then what’s the third?”

That was the question wasn’t it? Abraxas continued to mutter quietly even as both Orion and Silvus turned their attentions back to the game.

It seemed Silvus would be babysitting for a while longer.

*****

“Hopkins has spotted the Snitch! He dives, Mcnair is hot on his tail. Over the stands and behind the rings, Hopkins is closing in! But—OH! Hopkins has just been taken out by a Bludger from Jugson! What are the Gryffindor Beaters even doing!”

The game continued, exuberant cheers coming from both sides of the pitch. Harry watched, maintaining his simple air of calm amusement even as Tom proceeded to stare a hole into the side of his head. Eventually, Tom succeeded in getting the man’s attention.

“Watch the game Tom, I’m sure it’s far more interesting than me.” Tom smirked, taking the opportunity to subtly shift his body closer to the Assistant, leaning in to whisper in his ear.

“I beg to differ.” He enjoyed the way Harry’s skin puckered under his breath, a light shiver running down the man’s spine. Tom took a moment to access their link. It was still cloudy, vague impressions at most, but he could feel the anticipation, curiosity coming from the man. 

If Tom had anything to say about it their bond would soon deepen, becoming an unbreakable shackle between the two powerful individuals.

“Have you thought about my question?” The tentative nature of Harry’s question leaked through his mostly emotionless tone. Harry’s lack of strict emotional control was one of the few advantages Tom had.

“I have,” there was a lengthy and conflicted backstory to that response, one which he suspected Harry only knew part of, but he had come to a decision, a clear and definitive course of action.

“I am Lord Voldemort.”

It wasn’t the best opening line, and Harry visibly flinched, possibly in surprise or possibly in anger, but Tom felt it was best to deal with the most difficult issues first.

Tom surreptitiously erected a privacy ward around them, trusting his Slytherins to heed the warning and avoid the area.

“Calm down Harry. I’m not finished.” He could tell that it was with great effort that Harry reigned in his emotions, taking a full minute to relax enough to listen.

“Tom Marvolo Riddle; I am Lord Voldemort. I didn’t create that identity merely as a way of distancing myself from my muggle roots. Lord Voldemort was— _is_ , a concept, a symbol if you will. It represents both my determination to create a vast and reaching change in the wizarding world as well as my desire to be something more than human.”

“Pretty words Riddle, but from what I’ve seen all Voldemort represents is thoughtless bigotry and the most crippling fear of death in existence.”

Tom only tensed the smallest amounts having expected the response. Yes, Voldemort also contained traces of Tom’s profound hatred of death, but after a great deal of thought he had decided that it was far more than that.

“I will not stop seeking immortality, Harry. There are simply too many things I wish to do before I leave this earth, but trust me when I say that I have my priorities straight now.” This was a mild misdirection on his part. Tom didn’t so much fear dying with unfinished business as he did the unknowns of death.

The matron of Wool’s Orphanage had been a devout Catholic, ensuring that every single one of the orphans attended mass on Sundays and was thoroughly familiar with the Scripture. 

Tom’s eyes hardened, the mere thought of that place putting him in a bad mood. Mrs. Cole had made no secret of her dislike for him. Between periodic exorcisms and her violent, drunken rants on Tom’s inevitable place in hell, he had lost track of his own beliefs.

The magical world had not cleared up the issue either. Amongst wizards, death was generally thought of as an amorphous concept. There were ghosts and Inferi, but no one really knew where the dead went afterwards and most people didn’t give it much thought either.

Sitting upon a ratty old mattress in his tiny room, the sound of bombs and panic far too close for comfort, death was really all Tom had thought about.

Voldemort was borne of a childish desire to avoid death, to bypass that inevitability entirely. It had grown and developed on its own, but Harry had forced Tom to confront those initial desires, to take a hard look at everything he was and consider his own worth.

Regardless, Tom was certain he could make Voldemort into something more, the way it should have been to begin with, to move past the blind fear of his future and make something of the present.

“You think you can seek immortality _and_ restructure the wizarding world from the ground up?” Harry leveled him with a thoroughly unimpressed look, filled to the brim with skepticism. “Those are significant goals by themselves. Trying to do both will only end in tragedy.”

Tom took a moment to collect his thoughts, rehearsing what he was planning to say next in his head.

“Perhaps... if I was alone,” he trailed off pointedly. Tom’s face was inches away from Harry’s, close enough to breathe his air. He was aware of the curious eyes trying to catch a glimpse of the inside of the privacy ward, but otherwise he paid them no mind.

“I _will_ take over the Ministry. I _will_ change the wizarding world for the better, but I will do it as both Tom Riddle and Lord Voldemort.

“As Voldemort I will attack from the outside, weakening their defenses and raising questions on the security of the community, while as Tom I will infiltrate the government, converting people to his cause and spreading his influence.” Tom snarled at the sight of Harry’s obvious doubt, so he focused on their link, poured all of his magic into the connection to his horcrux.

The reaction was instant. Harry gained a drunk looking expression that, mentally, he was desperately trying to fight off. His magic though, was singing, proud and content, it bled through the privacy ward and affected all of the surrounding students.

“I am Tom Riddle and I am Lord Voldemort, and you are my horcrux Harry. That will not change.”

Harry grit his teeth, probably in anger. Tom was having trouble focusing as well, the magic in the air making it difficult for him to control himself.

“If you are so worried about me losing sight of my goals and spiraling into madness then _do_ something about it."

Tom breathed heavily, having spoken the words with a strange sense of breathless awe. There were many different ways he could phrase his final request, but he had chosen these words specifically.

"Will you help me?”

Harry had no obligation to help Tom, just like he had no obligation to stop Tom should he go off on a genocidal rampage. The man had done plenty in the mere two decades he’d been alive, but there was something inside Harry, something which compelled him to act in the face of adversary. It was that same thing that had him coax a vow out of Tom to never attack the students or Professors with the Basilisk, to defend the castle against Reapers, all without being asked.

That’s what Tom was playing on.

“I know what you’re doing Tom.” Of course he did, Tom would have been disappointed if he didn’t. Harry stared with a gaze just as penetrating as a master Legilimens. “What makes you think it will work?”

Tom smirked slyly and caressed Harry’s skin again. He wanted to go somewhere secluded so he could properly feel him. They had been separated for too long.

“I know you Harry, almost as well as you know me, and soon, even better.” A chill ran down the man’s back as Tom slipped his fingers under his shirt and began rubbing soothing circles at the base of his spine.

The situation lasted, stretching and straining to its very limits until the inevitable conclusion.

“Stop. Now.”

Tom stopped, drawing his hand back reluctantly as he leveled Harry with a patient expression. Victory was in his grasp, now all he had to do was wait Harry out.

“McNair has spotted the Snitch. Hopkins is in pursuit, but the Slytherin Beaters are making it a difficult task. The score is neck and neck, this is still anybody’s game!”

“I’m not a lackey, Tom. I won’t swear fealty to you.”

“That’s not what I’m asking and you know it.” Harry’s mouth shut with an audible click and the man proceeded to grumble about “damned Slytherins planning for everything.” Tom repressed a snort.

“Then what are you asking? Do you want me to help you take over the Ministry or attack it?”

“Both. Neither.” Harry glared and Tom chuckled.

“Help me focus on what’s important, pull me back when I go too far, and most importantly, be there when I need you.”

All Tom needed was for Harry to give an inch. He just needed the man to _let him in_ and he would go about insinuating himself even more deeply into the man’s life. They were meant to be together, for whatever reason, and Tom wasn’t about to let Harry just get away. No, Tom would force him to stay, if it came down to it, but he would prefer not to use force. Tom could manipulate certain future events if he had to, but first Harry needed to say _yes_.

“McNair has caught the Snitch! The score is 360 to 230! Slytherin wins!”

“...fine, _yes_.” 

And the crowd exploded into deafening celebration.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed that chapter. There were a few more hints and I would like to say that only one person came even remotely close to the correct answer, but everyone's guesses were pretty good. I encourage you all to keep guessing and keep in mind the red herring. Not every character's assumptions are correct. ;P


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh god it's finally finished. Okay, time for explanations. I recently got a new job and was spending much of my time adjusting. Please know that I do _not_ ever plan to have this long of a gap between updates. This was honestly unforeseen and I will do my utmost to prevent it from happening again. The rest of this fic is mostly finished or at least planned out so there is no danger of me abandoning this or any of my other works. Please enjoy the chapter.

“Well that truly is unfortunate. Better luck next time Albus!” Slughorn was practically skipping out of the stands, exuberantly congratulating every Slytherin player he could get to.

Harry had been delayed in getting to the party; Slughorn had intercepted him to wax poetic about the team members and their ‘masterful play.’ Seeing the pinched expression on Dumbledore’s face had made it worth it.

He arrived at the portrait entrance to the Slytherin dorms: an intricately painted Celtic knot of snakes all hissing lowly, sounding to his ears like a chorus of whispers. Tom had already gone ahead of him, making it very clear that he expected to see the man there when he arrived.

Harry had just snorted.

He pushed open the painting and faltered when he heard the upbeat music spilling through the crack. Walburga had talked a good game, describing the wild parties that Slytherin was apparently known for. Unfortunately, nothing could have prepared Harry for the real thing.

The music blared, almost deafening in its intensity, several freely floating lights moved around the room, occasionally dipping low enough to shine a spotlight on the points of action. There were tables with food and obviously intoxicating drinks that Harry knew had a part in the resulting chaos.

He would have been lying if he said he wasn’t surprised. When he’d heard the words ‘Slytherin party’ Harry had conjured up images of sleek and refined individuals trading witticisms and veiled threats. This was completely… unexpected.

“Harrison!” Walburga bounded over, her grin practically feral in the amount of teeth it showed.

“Walburga,” he had to shout to be heard over the music. “That was a great game. I think you still have a little blood in your teeth.”

If it were possible Walburga’s grin grew even wider and she started to drag Harry into the mess of people cluttering the common room.

His steps stuttered forward, uneasy with the amount of things going on. The music alone was enough to make him quail. It was a strange wizarding mix of swing and electronica that was slow enough to dance to, but fast enough to maintain the energy of the party.

Ironically, the most peaceful location of the frenzied common room was at the very center, the calm within the storm, and it only took one look for Harry to understand why.

“Harry, I’ve been waiting for you. Come, have a seat.” Harry heard the teen’s voice come across as clear as a bell as he stepped through the powerful privacy wards surrounding the quiet little nook. He turned a surreptitious glance towards the now silent and unsmiling Walburga, not appreciating the way Tom bandied about his name.

“Are you sure Tom? Wouldn’t you rather hang out with the other kids your age?” He asked innocently. Harry enjoyed the way the teen’s smile became just a bit more strained at the edges, before finally taking the offered seat across from the student. Tom must have given some sort of subtle signal, because Walburga quickly made herself scarce, retreating back out of the powerful wards surrounding the two wizards and the ever-burning hearth.

They made quite the picture sitting there. Two immensely powerful individuals sitting across from each other at the very center of a nigh uncontrollable Slytherin party. 

Harry winced inwardly. Something had changed, at the end of the game. When Harry had spoken his affirmation it was more than words, somehow both his and Tom's magics had decided put a bit more weight on their agreement. He could only hope that it hadn’t become a vow, or worse.

Tom was already far stronger than anyone his age had a right to be. Had Harry been Tom’s age, he knew that he wouldn’t have stood a chance. But Tom was about to experience another upgrade in magic during his coming of age, his 17th birthday was less than two weeks away and Harry shuddered to think of just how much power the young Dark Lord would have afterwards.

“Are you enjoying the party Harry?” Tom disrupted his thoughts with the most mundane of questions. Harry raised an eyebrow and pointedly glanced in the direction of some female seventh year who had decided to start unsteadily dancing on one of the tables.

Enjoy wouldn’t be the word he would use. Tolerate, is more like. Harry enjoyed music and drinks as much as anyone, but the sheer volume of students alone was enough to make him uneasy. Add to that his restlessly shifting magic and it made for one very ruffled Assistant.

“Talk, I don’t have all day.” Blunt, but Harry really didn’t have any desire to dance with words tonight. Perhaps another day.

Tom smiled, perfect teeth framing his perfect face just perfectly. It made Harry gag. Thankfully, Tom seemed to sense his rising ire.

“How much longer are you planning to hide behind the mask of obscurity?” 

Harry blinked. It was a fair question, but it didn’t change the fact that he had been completely unprepared for it.

“Why does it matter? I—“

“It matters because you are crippling yourself.” Harry almost flinched at the anger in Tom’s tone. It was jarring, that the soon-to-be Dark Lord was capable of becoming so furious on another’s behalf.

Let alone his.

Harry grimaced. “I’ve revealed a lot already. I showed enough on Halloween.”

“But you’re still holding back.” 

Harry glared, _‘presumptuous boy,’_ he thought. But Tom did not avert his gaze, content to stare down the Assistant in what had now become a suffocating silence.

“… I am.”

*****

Tom could feel his magic roiling, bubbling just beneath the surface of his skin at the answer.

_‘He’s still holding back.’_

That this man should _ever_ have to hold back any amount of his power felt fundamentally _wrong_ to him.

It made Tom uncomfortable, and by proxy, it made Tom’s magic uncomfortable.

Things would change, he swore. Tom decided right there that he would create a world in which no one would ever be forced to limit themselves to meet others standards of _normality_. Harry was raw; his magic was untouched by prejudiced views of Light and Dark. It was accepting, all encompassing, and Tom wanted to feel it in its purest state.

“Obviously you cannot simply stop abruptly, but you do have the means to begin the transition.” He leaned back, gauging Harry’s change in expression. It was a mixture of wry and teasing.

“I assume you are referring to my titles.” Had Tom been any other person he wouldn’t have noticed the subtle hint of bitterness in the last word, but Tom wasn’t anyone, and strange as it was he prided himself on his ability to ready the often enigmatic Assistant.

He gave a slight, assenting nod of his head. “Why does that upset you?”

Harry scowled, likely annoyed at having been caught brooding. Try as he may, Tom couldn’t hold back another smirk.

“Unlike some,” he ground out, “I don’t exactly enjoy the limelight.”

Tom narrowed his eyes in contemplation. That was true, but there was more to it than that.

“I’m sure you’ve noticed, but you have already gained the attention of the wizarding world: first, with your flashy methods in dispatching the Reapers and second with the revelation that you had any titles to begin with. Not just titles, _Lordships_.”

Tom emphasized the ‘s’ in Lordships, still mildly irritated that he had been unaware of Harry’s possession of multiple Lordships. The man in question seemed content to allow people to keep guessing, but Tom knew that in order to move on to the next stage of his plans he would need Harry to reveal himself at some point. Maybe Tom could claim the Slytherin title at the same time?

“How did they even find out about those?” Harry mumbled the words, likely meaning them to be for his ears only, regardless, Tom heard anyways. 

“I may have assisted the Ministry in procuring the documents from Gringotts.”

The scene froze. The casual rapport that had been building dissolved in an instant. Harry’s eyes were hard, mildly shocked, but mostly, overwhelmingly angry.

The man’s hands shook as he struggled to contain himself and once again Tom found himself wishing that Harry wouldn’t even bother. Even angry Tom wanted to experience the full force of the man’s magic.

“And how _exactly_ did Gringotts obtain those documents?” Harry spoke through clenched teeth, magic making his voice take on a harsher quality. Tom tilted his head, seemingly unaffected in the face of the onslaught.

“Harry,” he chided. “You were unresponsive in my presence for almost four days. It was a simple matter to draw blood from you in that condition and have the Goblins run a blood test.”

The rage built and expanded. As much as he enjoyed the feel of Harry’s unrestrained magic, Tom knew that he would have to calm the man down lest he inadvertently tear down the privacy wards and allow his anger to spill into the still ongoing party.

“Since you were so unwilling to listen to me that day I had one of my followers create a file for you so that when the Ministry inevitably questioned you there would be _some_ record of your existence. Imagine their surprise when they discovered that you were much more than a mere Assistant Professor.”

Tom’s face remained neutral even as Harry leveled him with that penetrating gaze.

Harry’s eyes were green, unnaturally so, and simply brimming with power.

Tom felt his resistance crumbling as he was once again drawn in by the need to be as close to Harry as possibly, to bask in his presence. If this wasn’t such a public setting he suspected that he would have no qualms in doing exactly that.

“You don’t know what you’ve done.” Tom raised an eyebrow.

“What I’ve done is keep you from being under watch by the Aurors at the very least, an Unspeakable’s experiment at the most.”

Harry seemed to roil under the truth in that statement, it managed to reassert the need for absolute secrecy when it came to Harry’s unexplainable time travel, but everything else was fair game. Or at least, Tom thought so.

“Do you know then?” Harry said quietly, almost reluctantly. Tom tilted his head, immediately knowing what the man was referring to.

“I do not,” he admitted. “The Goblins were less than willing to reveal the results of the blood test, especially after they saw them. All I knew was that you were a Lord. I did not know of what House, or rather, Houses.”

Harry smirked, some of his anger dissipating in light of the revelation.

“But you will tell me.” Harry snorted.

“Fat chance.” Tom frowned, for the first time this evening.

“It will come out eventually Harry. Sooner or later it will become necessary to reveal and it will be better if I know what I’m dealing with beforehand.”

Harry’s false levity stubbornly remained. He grinned cheekily. “Even so, I would prefer later.”

Tom clenched his hands, allowing his magic to seep across the space between them, which he now realized had been growing continually smaller. Harry flinched, likely feelingly the chill that comes with another’s magic invading one’s senses, but Tom focused on their link, focused on directing a very specific emotion.

Pleasure.

~The bond between us will not allow you to do this halfheartedly. It’s much too powerful for you to attempt to keep secrets from me.~

Tom briefly contemplated accessing their link to exert a mild pressure against Harry’s mind to emphasize his point, but decided against it. For whatever reason the man considered his mind to be sacred. He didn’t know all the details, but Tom could infer that something had happened in the past to make Harry extremely defensive of his mind.

He wouldn’t provoke the man so openly.

~You think I don’t know that?~ Harry hissed. Tom wasn’t even sure the man knew he had slipped into Parseltongue, regardless the sound of Harry’s lips forming the sibilant syllables of the snake language sent a hopefully unnoticeable shiver down Tom’s spine.

~You think I didn’t feel my magic purring when I finally agreed?~ And didn’t that just excite Tom even more. ~I don’t know how deep this goes Riddle, but there’s no way in hell I’ll spill all my secrets just cause my magic says so. If the true nature of my Lordships got out you and _Dumbledore_ would be the least of my worries.~

He and Harry remained in a standoff for a few moments, neither willing to speak or look away before the other.

Tom wondered if Harry could see how much thinking was being done as a result of that statement. In his mind their bond was immutable, something that was simply meant to be. It was as though he had been feeling Harry his whole life and just hadn’t noticed it yet, but for Harry it was different.

It wasn’t enough, he realized. Knowing that he was Tom’s horcrux, that he carried Tom’s soul, wasn’t enough for Harry.

Then he would have to make it enough.

In that instant Tom created and discarded several plans in his head. His thoughts were awhirl with different schemes to get Harry to open up to him completely, to give in. He didn’t even completely understand why he wanted it so desperately, but even that uncertainty wouldn’t stop him.

Nothing would.

*****

“This is will be the last meeting of the Dueling Club before the holidays, so let’s use it for review. Is there anything anyone wants to work on?”

A few of the students raised their hands. Mostly the Gryffindors, she noticed, the Slytherins were still being suspiciously subdued in her eyes.

Evans randomly selected an average looking student who Minerva couldn’t remember the name of. 

“Yes sir, uh—“ the boy seemed to quail under the sudden attention. Despite Evans' best efforts, after the events of Halloween there was a group of students that stubbornly refused to call him anything other than ‘sir.’ 

Minerva was not one of them.

“I’ve, ah, been having some trouble with the Patronus spell, sir.”

Evans nodded. A lot of people had been having trouble with the spell. Minerva had even heard that Professor Merrythought came to Evans after classes and told him how unrealistic it was for him to expect anyone to produce even mist by the end of the year.

Minerva wondered why that was. What was it about the Patronus spell that made it so difficult to cast? Even she had only been able to create the smallest spark and it would never hold up against a Dementor. Evans had explained the concept adequately enough, that the emotions associated with the memory were more important than the memory itself.

That was certainly something she couldn’t find in any book.

But still she was having trouble.

Soon everyone was arranged throughout the room, each practicing their Patronuses to varying degrees of success. So far, and perhaps unsurprisingly, it was Tom that had come the closest. Minerva was also acutely aware of the fact Tom’s eyes had yet to leave the Assistant Professor.

Not once.

“Put more power into it Minerva. I can see a shape starting to form so you’re on the right track memory-wise. Just use more magic.”

Minerva spared a small glance at Evans, noticing the seriousness in his expression before returning to her spellwork with renewed vigor. 

Minerva focused on her core, drawing forth the memory of her father returning home after four months of absence. Her mother had finally revealed to him that he had married a witch and that his children were displaying the talent as well. Her father had left their small house after the most horrible shouting match Minerva had ever heard.

But he came back.

She pushed her magic forth, from the center of her being, into her wand, out into the world.

A beautiful white light sprang forth, bright enough to make her eyes water and send the rest of the room into an awed silence. It remained for maybe ten seconds until Minerva watched it reluctantly dissipate as she fell to her knees exhausted.

Say what you will about the man, Harrison Evans was a damn good teacher.

The proud smile he showed her was as jarring as it was heartwarming.

The events of Halloween were still fresh in her mind, even what happened before the Reapers arrived, but for that short moment Minerva doubted her decision.

*****

The Goblins of Gringotts bank were prideful creatures, frightfully pragmatic as well. They had been screwed by wizardkind for many centuries, thus it was a sort of unspoken rule that any and all wizards entering the bank would be treated with the same sort of scornful disgust.

While this rule held true for even the richest and most pompous of purebloods, there were exceptions to every rule.

A blonde man stepped into the threshold of Gringotts, several charms woven about his visage in order to make his journey less chaotic. He strode towards the counter, seemingly unaware of the sudden shift in atmosphere within the bank and promptly demanded a meeting with the head Goblin.

Silverfang, the Goblin teller who had been given said demand understood immediately who it was they were dealing with, as did all the other Goblins witnessing the scene. In a truly admirable show of composure, Silverfang gestured for the newcomer to follow him into the bowels of the building.

The head Goblin, simply known as Ragnok, had a decently sized office, sparsely furnished with purely utilitarian features. He was strict, meticulously frugal, and the Dark Lord Grindelwald had just demanded a meeting with him.

They sat, facing each other in a standoff. Silverfang, having long since fled the room, left the brutal wizard and the impeccable Goblin deadlocked.

“Do you have any idea why I requested this meeting?” Ragnok, not one for games or riddles, sneered, abjectly annoyed by the apparent waste of time.

Gellert smiled patiently and simply waited for the Goblin’s unlikely reply.

“… no. Will that be all Mr. Grindelwald?” Gellert let out a small chuckle at the response.

“No, no, far from it.” The silence continued, lingering like a bad smell in an otherwise pleasant room.

“I come with questions regarding a certain one of your patrons.” Ragnok, again, did not bother to repress the sneer.

“Gringotts practices a most comprehensive form of confidentiality. All information regarding our clients remains private.”

Gellert maintained his agreeable façade even as the room filled with the might of his power, the darkness of his magic nearly suffocating. Ragnok narrowed his eyes at the implied threat and only moved to ensure the handaxe concealed beneath his desk was within reach, otherwise remaining still.

“I am aware of the high standards of Gringotts,” Gellert continued, only mildly put out by the fact that Ragnok was not so easily intimidated. “However, I believe certain exceptions should be made for the greater good.”

Ragnok blankly waited for the man to continue, knowing he was far from finished.

“Harrison Evans is one such exception.”

The conversation devolved swiftly. Ragnok, quickly grasping the true goal of the meeting, immediately understood that Gellert Grindelwald would not be willing to leave empty handed. He hefted the handaxe from beneath his desk and made to plant it in the Dark Lord’s head.

Gellert, however, was prepared for this action, and used his already gathered magic to create a shield strong enough to just barely deflect the Goblin made weapon. In another motion, Ragnok was propelled and pinned against the wall.

The ornate handaxe fell to the floor with a dull clatter and the head Goblin let out a sudden gasp upon impact leaving him dangerously disoriented.

The Dark Lord kept his wand focused on the Goblin, but still allowed himself to brush off the dust on his clothes with his other hand, as though he had not nearly lost his life moments ago.

“I do believe I asked you a question.” The ever powerful wand glowed with power inches away from the skin of its target and Gellert knew the exact moment that Ragnok realized exactly what artifact was being used against him.

The blonde smirked, secure in his control.

“Who is Harrison Evans?” Ragnok felt a burning pain begin in his chest and spread throughout his body. It was as though he was being disassembled agonizingly slow. He was a rational being, but like all Goblins he had his honor.

It only took four more pulses of magic from the strongest wand to strip him of that honor.

“Lord H-hadrian James… Gryffindor… P-peverell.”

Gellert Grindelwald grinned viciously.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How many of you saw that coming? Comments and critique please.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey look, another chapter! Please comment and enjoy.

As callous as it was, Harry had always found Hogwarts to be at her most beautiful when she was empty. The old castle could truly come to life when there were no students walking through her vast and ancient halls.

Which wasn’t to say he was alone, the Halloween attack had done a great job incentivizing the students to return home during their holiday vacation, but even then most of the Professors had remained, and there was one student Harry knew would never willingly leave the school, one student who had never considered that place away from Hogwarts ‘home.’

That student was unfortunately taking the lack of interference as a chance to hound him at every turn.

“Harry, I’ve been looking for you.” He still hated the way the teen lingered on his name, rolling the syllables around in his mouth far longer than necessary.

“That should have been your first clue that I didn’t want to be found.” Harry retorted with an equally fake smile.

Tom stopped smiling, halting Harry's forward motion with a single hand on his chest. It was just enough of an invasion of his personal space to force him stiffen reflexively, but Harry didn’t remove the hand.

“Dropped the act completely, huh?”

“Come now Harry, you know me too well for any pretense to be useful. Besides, you owe me.” He emphasized the last words, eyes glittering in pleasure.

Damn, Harry had almost forgotten. Tom didn’t bring it up immediately afterwards, but Harry had suspected that the teen would demand something in return for his newly created background.

Harry gritted his teeth. He might as well get it over with.

“Within reason,” he conceded. Tom’s answering smile was all teeth, but he stepped aside and allowed Harry to continue on his way to the Room of Requirements. He was still a little upset that he had given away the location of said room, but it was too late to regret it now.

“I want answers,” Tom said as he casually flung his body onto the plush green couch that had appeared. The Room was of rather conflicting décor, red vs green, Gryffindor vs Slytherin. It seemed as though Hogwarts had taken both of their wishes and created something that looked to be at war with itself.

On a more positive note, the Christmas colors suited the occasion.

“No,” Harry sat on the couch far more sedately. He knew exactly what answers Tom wanted and he had no intentions of giving them, deal or not. “Pick something else.”

Tom smirked, and for a moment Harry thought that he had just given exactly the response the teen was expecting, but why did that bother him so much?

“Conversation then,” Harry did a double take and looked at Tom as though he had grown a second head.

“Wha—why?” Very good Harry, maybe next week we can get you started on full sentences! He visibly grimaced at his own admonishments.

“Harry,” once again he had to repress a shiver at the way Tom savored his name. “So often I have to deal with the type of fools that you once sent to the Healing Wing. I just want to enjoy some time when I don’t have to wear any masks, and you are the only person I can do that with. That’s why every week you and I are going to have at least three conversations of a minimum of 30 minutes in a non-school setting.”

Tom finished with a winning smile. If Harry didn’t know any better than he would have almost believed that Tom was telling the truth, and perhaps he was, but it certainly wasn’t the whole truth.

What Harry couldn’t figure out was what the young Dark Lord could possibly hope to gain from that deal. He had given no specifications on the topic of the conversations or even if he had to tell the truth during the duration. Harry could spend 30 minutes babbling about Quidditch statistics and there would be nothing Tom could do about it.

At some point, Harry knew that his suspicion had leaked onto his face, and if Tom’s chuckle was any indication, the boy was _amused_. 

Harry scowled.

“So, do we have a deal?” Tom held out his hand and Harry felt the phrase ‘a deal with the devil’ fit the scene quite nicely. He had thought one deal with the teen would be enough, somehow he got suckered into making a second, and now a third? 

Harry sighed. He knew better than most how much Tom could have asked for if he really wanted to wring out the full value of his debt, so there weren’t really many other options. 

He reached out with a tentative hand and loosely grasped Tom’s waiting one, eyes forced to meet delighted gray-blue as their magic snapped into place and made the agreement binding.

Tom’s sudden satisfaction made him wonder if perhaps he had underestimated the devil.

“Let’s start now,” the teen said, far too cheerfully in Harry’s opinion. Meanwhile, Harry was trying to think of every dirty trick in the book that he could use to derail any undesirable topics of conversation.

“What is your favorite color?”

Harry blinked. Tom stared at him expectantly, wide-eyed with innocence, as though that question was a perfectly acceptable conversation starter, which it was, but since when did Tom Riddle have any business being _acceptable_?

“Light blue.” Tom gave him a considering look. “What? Did you expect it to be Gryffindor red?”

Tom smirked slightly. “I suspected, but I hadn’t known for sure that you were a Gryffindor until just now.”

Harry scowled. He couldn’t even realistically blame Tom for that one. It was his own foolishness that had led him to revealing that little tidbit, no matter how insignificant. He would have to be more careful.

“I’m afraid I’m far more generic in that case.” Tom said, gesturing towards the lush green of the couch they were sitting on.

_‘The Heir of Slytherin’s favorite color is green. What are the chances?’_

“Why light blue?” Harry found himself being removed from his caustic thoughts and thrown back into the deceptively innocent conversation.

“It’s the color of the sky. I like the sky.” Harry thought back to his Firebolt and realized that he hadn’t used it in almost two months.

Tom tilted his head to the side in remembrance and smiled. The worst part was that Harry couldn’t actually tell whether or not the smile was genuine.

“Yes, I recall the way you flew during that battle. You looked like you were born to be in the air.” Harry blushed just the smallest amount, to his eternal shame. “Did you ever consider playing Quidditch?”

Harry grinned at that, the memories of his Quidditch days still fresh in his mind.

“I didn’t even have to consider it. I’ve been playing Seeker since my first year.”

Tom looked openly surprised. “I thought they only allowed second years on the team. Was that something they changed?”

“No,” his eyes were alight with proud mischief. “But they made an exception for me.”

*****

 _‘Baby steps,’_ Tom thought.

Harry was right to be suspicious. The deal that Tom had just made was conspicuously open-ended, and perhaps he should have been more specific, but doing it this way had the wonderful effect of lowering Harry’s guard. As long as the man maintained the belief that he could control the flow of their now mandatory conversations, Tom could secretly subvert that belief.

 _‘Keep searching for my endgame, dear Harry. You won’t find it.’_ He smiled disarmingly, enjoying the way it unbalanced the Assistant. Harry’s conflicting emotions were like candy to him.

He was delighted to see Harry descend into an in depth analysis of the maneuvers and formations used during the recent Gryffindor vs. Slytherin game. The man had even managed to forget that he was obligated to have the current conversation.

Tom covertly cast a Tempus and checked the time, he still had plenty to coax out the information he wanted.

He would have to be subtle, of course. Harry may be easily distracted, but he was no fool. Tom would have to limit himself to merely guiding their conversations, otherwise Harry may never be this open with him ever again.

“What was your favorite team?” Harry halted in his criticisms to answer Tom’s question, rather sheepish at having been caught monologuing.

“The Chudley Cannons,” Tom’s eyes widened slightly. He wasn’t an avid Quidditch fan, or even a passing one really, but even he knew that the Chudley Cannons had a losing streak that had been going on for years. Some of the more superstitious even claimed the team was cursed.

“They’re still awful in the future.” Harry admitted, but he quickly followed up with an explanation. “But a fr—someone I knew always insisted that they would win someday.”

Harry’s eyes went a little unfocused as the stared off into empty space. Tom didn’t know whether he should allow the man to reminisce in order to squeeze more information out of him or force his attention back on himself.

“He would always say one more year…”

_“You’ll see Harry. Mark my words, the Cannons will bounce back next year for sure.”_

“… next year for sure.”

Tom only allowed the dead silence to remain for a moment. He couldn’t afford to allow Harry to regain his bearings.

“Was this person a friend of yours?” He wasn’t sure why he asked that question. The better question would have been ‘did they win the next year,’ or even ‘when was the last time they won,’ something that would allow him to deduce what year Harry was from.

But Tom had asked a different question instead, one which was seemingly useless to his purpose, but still somehow very necessary in his eyes.

“He—I—“ Harry’s voice broke and for a moment Tom imagined himself killing that person, throttling the life out of whoever made his Harry so wrong footed, for Tom had another purpose in making that deal, one which was far more innocent by comparison.

Tom wanted to know everything there was to know about Harry.

“I don’t want to talk about him.” Tom narrowed his eyes, taking great care to ensure that Harry could not see any signs of the irrational rage he felt. He subtly shifted his body closer to Harry.

“How long has it been?”

He smiled at that. “45 minutes,” oh how he enjoyed Harry’s shocked expression. Yes, he would find out everything.

Eventually

*****

The Christmas feast couldn’t really be classified as a feast. It was more of a small dinner involving the dozen students that had chosen to remain at Hogwarts as well as the several Professors. Nonetheless, the House Elves had gone to every effort to make sure the ‘feast’ was as grand as it always was.

Rather than the usual arrangement of the four House tables, there was only one, relatively small, circular table which was meant to seat both the students and staff and allow for mingling and general merriment. It was never like this when Harry had remained over the Holidays, so he supposed that was another thing that Dumbledore had needlessly changed.

Tom had somehow managed to take the strangely much desired seat to his right while Galatea sat on his left. There were a few smatterings of conversation here and there, but mostly the students were subdued, likely afraid, made paranoid by the recent happenings.

Almost everyone had returned home to the safety and wards of their family manors. Those remaining were the students that couldn’t leave for whatever reason, and it was very obvious that they no longer considered Hogwarts to be a safe place, especially with the reduced number of Professors.

Tom was nonchalant, as per usual, eating with grace and poise even as the owls swooped in in the evening news. It was Christmas, or Yule day, Harry knew that even the seemingly omnipresent reporters usually took today off, so whatever was being printed must be incredibly important.

There were a few questioning glances around the table as Tom was the first to pick up the paper and quickly skim through the contents.

Harry studied his face, watching as the teen raised an eyebrow, and then pinched his lips before finally outright frowning. His face was a myriad of different emotions and Harry found himself entranced by them all.

It was then that Tom handed him the paper, sliding it across the small gap between them and tapping the headline. Harry glanced downwards.

_Dark Lord Supporters in the Ministry!_

_This is no joke. While the esteemed Minster would like you to believe that none of Grindelwald’s forces have breached the British border, just this week an Unspeakable was caught delivering classified information to the Dark Lord himself. An Unspeakable! If Grindelwald’s forces can infiltrate one of the most exclusive ministerial divisions where else could they be?_

_If you still remember, there was an attack on Hogwarts just over a month ago. Minister Diggory claims that this was an isolated incident perpetrated by a few Dark wizards, but is that really true?_

_The Ministry has been infiltrated, Hogwarts has been attacked, is Britain truly safe? When asked to comment on the continuing war effort by the French and Germans Minister Diggory responded that there was no need to get involved in the problems of other countries. How much more will it take for the Minister to consider Grindelwald our problem?_

_Are we safe? Are our children safe? This reporter will be relentlessly following what happens next._

Harry snorted and threw the newspaper aside. Nothing new there, just more of an inept Ministry blowing up smoke instead of putting out the actual fires. Though, he was curious as to how Tom was intending to handle it.

In a little over a year Dumbledore would finally gather the courage to face Gellert Grindelwald in battle and defeat him in what would become a legendary three hour duel. That defeat was the catalyst for Dumbledore gaining much of the support that he had during Harry’s life.

If Tom was to have any chance at all of taking over the Ministry, then something would have to be done to prevent Dumbledore from gaining that acclaim and there was only one obvious, if undesirable solution. Harry grimaced at the mere thought of it.

They would have to defeat Grindelwald themselves. The benefits were obvious, Tom could use the fame to launch his career within the Ministry. He was already well liked by most of the students and Professors. With Grindelwald’s defeat on top of all of that he might even end up being as worshipped as Harry had.

The disadvantage was that Tom didn’t have nearly enough power or skill to defeat Grindelwald in his current state. He was powerful, yes, but even after his coming-of-age he would still lack the experience that would make even Dumbledore wary of his future self.

Thus, Harry would have to assist him, but Harry really _really_ did not want to.

Harry surreptitiously passed the newspaper back to Tom and returned to his meal.

He would have to think on it.

*****

Albus sat patiently inside the Minister’s office. One of the secretaries had just come by a few minutes ago and told him that the Minister Diggory would be in shortly.

He had scheduled this meeting over a month ago, almost immediately after the Halloween incident once it became apparent that Harrison Evans could not be controlled with traditional methods.

“Alright Albus what is it you want? I don’t have time for any of your games.” The door slammed behind Diggory as he strode across the room, a weary expression on his face. Albus had gone to school with the younger Anton Diggory, and he knew for a fact that the rather ambitious Gryffindor was not prepared for the war that had already arrived.

Alas, the most Albus could do was protect his students, and that began with taking care of Harrison Evans.

“Of course Anton, I will try to keep this as quick as possible.” Albus straightened his back and gave his junior a hard look. “I assume you are aware of one Harrison Evans.”

Anton gave Albus an unimpressed look in response. “The young Lord, Assistant to Professor Merrythought teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts, and allegedly participated in subduing the Dark wizards that attacked the school.” Anton paused, crossing his legs as a hint of respect flickered across his eyes. “What about him?”

Albus knew in that moment that he would have to change his tactics. He hadn’t expected Anton to feel any kind of respect for young Harrison and his actions. Apparently, while Anton was unwilling to acknowledge the coming war in any way, he was still willing to appreciate the people that were fighting on his behalf.

It meant he would be hesitant to believe any baseless accusations.

“I believe Harrison Evans is a spy for the Dark Lord Grindelwald.”

Unprepared for Albus to be so candid about his accusations, Anton found his jaw gaping unattractively. It was completely untrue, of course. He knew Gellert would never allow a mere spy to take such a huge chunk out of his forces even as part of a cover. Gellert had all but admitted to his desire to take Harrison into his ranks by whatever means necessary.

That was why drastic measures needed to be taken.

“You can’t just say those things Albus, especially not without proof. He’s a _Lord_.” Anton hissed in a harsh whisper, as though he were afraid of someone appearing from behind the curtain. The older man nodded, outwardly solemn and regretful, while inside he planned and plotted.

“I understand Anton, but even you must acknowledge the potential risk there is in allowing a Dark Lord’s spy to teach at Hogwarts, amongst children.” He added the last part, disappointment lacing his every word. Anton understood the implicit threat, the Prophet would pounce on the information.

“Why have you come to me with this,” the Minister struggled to find the right word, “this _tenuous_ information. If you’re worried about this Evans, then you should be telling Head Auror Goyle.” The Head Auror already disliked the Assistant and would certainly be more willing to hear out his suspicions.

“I would have Anton, but it is as you said. The boy is a Lord, and even the Head Auror would need permission from the Minister to arrest a Lord.”

Anton frowned, seeing where the Professor was going with the conversation but still unclear on Dumbledore’s desired goal.

“And even the Minister would need evidence to send a Lord to Azkaban. Can you imagine the backlash? They’d be calling for my head!”

And Albus knew it was true. Every pureblood with even a hint of power would crawl out of the woodwork to crucify Anton Diggory for arresting and sentencing a Lord to Azkaban on nothing but the word of a Professor, but Albus didn’t need Harrison to go to Azkaban, he just needed him _contained_.

“According to Ministry Statute number 115b: anyone can be held for up to 60 days while awaiting trial and sentencing. He need not go to Azkaban Anton, the holding cells here at the Ministry are quite well equipped and I would be willing to add in my own lot to ensure Harrison remains secure.”

Anton looked as though he might have a panic attack, his light brown and often admired hair was plastered to his forehead as he began to sweat, forcing himself to listen to Dumbledore’s outlandish plan.

But what could he do? Albus had been four years ahead of him at school and one of his main supporters when he ran for the position of Minister, he couldn’t just ignore the man. Anton had heard the secondhand reports of the attack on Hogwarts, parents were already threatening to remove their children from the school. He had posted Aurors inside the ancient castle to quell some of the outrage, but if there was any truth to Albus’ words then it would all be for naught. And even if there wasn’t, if any of the parents, or worse, the _media_ , caught wind of Albus’ suspicions there would be riots.

The war was coming, people were all looking to him expecting some sort of response. Harrison Evans could be the perfect scapegoat.

“No one will believe those charges Albus. They’re already calling the boy a hero. If I arrest him on trumped up charges I’ll be dealing with more than just the traditionalists.”

Albus nodded, expecting the concern. “Then have him arrested discreetly. We can interrogate him during his holding to see if there’s any proof to what I have witnessed, but Harrison has already been tainted by Dark magic. He will not come willingly.” The use of the word ‘we’ did not slip by the Minister, alerting him to the Professor’s personal concern in the affair.

Anton slumped backwards and resigned himself to the troubles ahead.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy canoli! This is the longest chapter I've ever written. Its been a long time coming, please enjoy.

“Did you ever consider how you traveled through time?  Why you ended up in this time period of all places?”  Tom asked suddenly.

It was a question that had been on his mind ever since the topic first came up.  How had Harry appeared so far in the past?  Tom wasn’t exactly sure what time period he had come from, but he knew it had to be at least 50 years into the future.

Was it intentional?  Had Harry come to this year on purpose?  His initial reluctance to be anywhere near Dumbledore or himself made Tom doubt that theory.

“Briefly.”

Tom waited a beat, hoping for a further explanation “… and?”

“And I immediately put the thought away because it was threatening to drive me insane.  Next question.”  As exasperated as Tom was he could easily see Harry’s view on the issue. 

Assuming that Harry had played no part in the event, then the whole thing was dangerously coincidental.  There was a possibility of third party involvement, but it was unlikely that anyone would be able to sneak up on one as naturally paranoid as Harry, which meant that there were likely other forces involved in the occurrence.

“Do you remember what you were doing when it happened?”

“Drinking." 

The idea that someone had somehow managed to sneak up on the man and engineer his trip into the past was beginning to sound more likely.  Tom wanted to sigh in exasperation. 

“Are you saying you don’t remember anything else?  Where you were, what day it was…?”

Harry scowled in such a way that made it clear that he knew exactly what the answers to those questions were, but was unwilling to answer.  This time Tom did sigh.  No matter, this was a conversation not an interrogation.

“Let’s talk about something else then,” Tom suggested generously.  After all, if this was to be a successful endeavor, Tom suspected he would have to be more than flexible, use honey rather than vinegar. 

Harry nodded and grinned in that mischievous way that suggested he was planning something childishly vindictive.

“How much do you know about Dark Lords?”  Tom wondered if he should take offense to that question.

“Plenty—the term is informal, but has existed for longer than even the four Founders, the reason being that a Dark Lord, or someone highly adept in the Dark Arts, arises every generation or so.  Not all of them are successful in gathering followers, but most of them have done something that had some sort of impact on the wizarding world.”

Harry hummed noncommittally.  “Correct, but you’re missing some stuff.”  Tom narrowed his eyes and threw an arm on the cushions behind Harry’s back, forcing the man to focus on him.

Tom leaned in close and whispered in his ear.  “And what, pray tell, am I missing.”  Harry shuddered slightly beside him, drawing a smirk from his lips.  Whatever it was that was happening between them seemed to be growing in intensity and Tom wasn’t entirely certain it was a bad thing.

“Their creation—why do Dark Lord’s appear so regularly and why have they never been completely successful?”  Tom frowned in thought as he contemplated nuzzling Harry’s neck.  So far the man didn’t even seem to be aware of how much leeway he was allowing Tom, but the teen was content to take advantage of it.  He was keeping half his focus on the conversation and half on exploring every inch of Harry’s body.

“Someone always appears to oppose them, someone that is usually equally as strong.”  Tom suddenly realized where this was going.  He curled his arm around Harry, relishing the way the man unconsciously leaned into his hold.

“The term is a lot less common, but that opposition is sometimes called a Light Lord.”

“Are you saying that Dumbledore is the Light Lord of this time?”  Tom questioned.  The whole discussion was opening up entire avenues of study.

“In a sense, it’s never as clear cut as that, but yes.  Dumbledore would typically be referred to as a Light Lord.”  Tom narrowed his eyes in thought and wondered if Harry’s lack of commitment on the topic had anything to do with the way Dumbledore had returned from his so-called capture without a scratch.

“Whether it’s by fate or magic or whatever, every Dark Lord in recorded history has had a Light Lord counterpart.  Slytherin had Gryffindor, Grindelwald has Dumbledore…” Harry trailed off.

“And?  What about me?”  He asked, although he already suspected the answer.

“I was supposed to be your counterpart.”  Supposed to, Tom thought.  Then what happened?

“But more importantly, I’m wondering if my presence in this time period is affecting more than I thought.  I’m no Light Lord, and if I have anything to say about it you’ll never become a Dark Lord.”

Tom frowned at the way Harry had once again managed to redirect the conversation.  He opened his mouth to say some comment that would get them back on track, but Harry beat him to it.

“How long has it been?”  Tom scowled at having been foiled.

“Just over an hour.”  He just barely managed to keep himself from growling the response.  It seemed he would once again be leaving one of their discussions with more questions than answers.

“Well then, I suppose I’ll be leaving now.”  Harry stood from the couch nonchalantly, brushing some nonexistent lint off of his robes before leaving the room without giving Tom a second glance.

It was infuriating.

*****

Harry made quick strides away from the Room of Requirements.  He hadn’t wanted to be near Tom this close to his coming-of-age, but Tom had managed to catch him on his way out of the Dining Hall and convince/coerce him to have another of their ‘conversations.’

It was lucky that they finished when they did.  If Harry was any indication, Tom’s 17th birthday would likely be… explosive.

He remembered when the Dursleys had wandered into his room a few minutes after midnight, demanding to know why he was making so much noise.  Apparently, he had actually _hissed_ , causing them to rethink their original course of action and beat a hasty retreat.

Harry smiled in remembrance, only briefly considering what would have happened if Vernon had been a little less quick and had tragically been a victim of his magical transition to adulthood.

He snorted.

Instead of dwelling on his less than stellar childhood, Harry decided that tonight was a nice night for flying.  Despite the frigid temperatures the sky was clear, and that was good enough for him.

Harry didn’t even bother using a door; he just leapt out of the nearest window and caught himself on his trusty Firebolt.

The air was punishingly cold and Harry was only wearing a rather thin cloak, but he felt so _free_.  With a grin, he began going through a few of the drills Oliver Wood had once awoken him at 4 a.m. to practice.

A few lazy loops, followed by several terrifyingly quick ones, and a sharp nose dive ensured that he was indeed still in shape.  By the end Harry was sweating enough that he stopped noticing the temperature.

The moon had just about reached its zenith, hanging low in the sky.  It was full, inevitably reminding him of Remus and the way the man and his wife had died for him.  He remembered Teddy, the godson he had so desperately tried to protect when the Ministry had decided that half-breed werewolves were Dark and therefore intolerable no matter their age.

He felt a mix of rage and melancholy, both of which fizzled out as quickly as his fading adrenaline high and left him with a sort of emptiness.  Harry tried to fight off the onset of depression with the knowledge that he would have a chance to change everything, beginning and ending with Voldemort.

With a sigh he drifted back towards the window he exited from, tapping the pane with his wand to make it open, only to be met with a terrifying sight.

~Where have you been?~

Before him was none other than Tom Riddle, but even the members of his own House wouldn’t have recognized him.

The boy was completely ragged, his hair and clothes disheveled while his eyes had a disturbing hint of red in them.  His whole body was even paler than usual and covered in sweat while his magic was flowing about him erratically, jumping from barely there to absolutely unbearable.

Under the light of the full moon Tom looked positively demonic.

~What are you doing out here?  Why didn’t you stay in the Room?  You can’t be around people during your coming-of-age!~

Unsurprisingly, Tom didn’t react to the logic in his words.  Instead, the teen shivered, his half lidded eyes darkening until the irises were mostly unseen and he began to approach.

Harry backed away, his magic instinctively reared up to defend him.

It was a bad idea.

Tom’s magic exploded out of him, filling the halls and probably reducing the remaining students and staff into unresponsive masses.  Before Harry could pull his magic back into himself, Tom’s magic reached out and grabbed it.

It coiled about him, like dozens of snakes that were completely intent on coaxing and plying his magic into submission.

And Harry could feel every second of it.

Harry hoped he only zoned out for a few moments, but regardless in that time Tom had gotten so close that Harry could feel the heat of his skin.  He was staring with the most smoldering and intent eyes, fixated on his neck for some reason.  Tom bent over to nuzzle it, sending Harry into another reflexive bout of shivers as Tom’s magic mirrored the motion.

~Yessss~ Tom’s utterly gleeful declaration was jarring enough to give Harry a second of clarity.  He grabbed the front of Tom’s shirt and Apparated, hoping that the magical backlash didn’t hurt anyone even as he landed on the floor of the Room of Requirement.

Harry wasn’t completely sure of how he ended up inside the Room.  As far as he knew no one could Apparate inside, not even him, but if Hogwarts was helping him to restrict the damage of such a disastrous coming-of-age then who was he to argue?

“Tom.  _Tom!_ ”  The boy didn’t seem to be paying attention to what Harry was saying.  He was much more interested in nibbling on Harry’s collar bone and feeling him up through his robes.

Harry unsuccessfully tried to repress a moan.

How did he end up in this situation—on his back, with Tom Riddle on top of him, desperately trying not to moan in pleasure?

Harry wasn’t a virgin.  He’d had sex with Cho once and Ginny a few times, but once the war had really kicked off he wasn’t willing to lie with anyone he didn’t completely trust, and Ginny was the only person on that list.  Thus, Harry hadn’t had sex since Ginny died.

But all the experience in the world couldn’t have prepared him for what he was feeling now.  Harry felt like he was on fire, like his magic had finally broken past his strict control and turned on him, burning him from the inside out. 

“Harry—I can’t stop.  I won’t—stop.”  Harry suddenly remembered the person currently pinning him to the floor of the Room of Requirements with far more strength than he should be capable of.  He could only assume that in addition to making him borderline incoherent, Tom’s magical inheritance was temporarily boosting his magic to absurd levels.

Another wave of heat swept through him and Harry rolled his hips, throwing his head back as he carelessly whined.  Tom growled and began nipping at his neck, lavishing it with attention and setting his nerves alight.

“Then don’t.  Don’t stop Tom.”  The young Dark Lord took that as permission and began grinding against him in earnest, his erection creating a maddening friction as he bit at Harry’s bottom lip until it was swollen.  He ripped off Harry’s clothes, forgoing magic completely in the moment, and tossed the remains of his button up shirt behind him.

Tom rubbed his hand against Harry hardness, eliciting a gasp which he eagerly drank with another kiss, thoroughly taking advantage of the opportunity to plunder his mouth, intent on exploring every inch with his tongue.

Harry was desperately writhing on the floor.  All logic had fled his mind and his magic, _his magic was singing_.  He decided that Tom was wearing far too much and got to work removing his pants while Tom was occupied with licking the blood off his bleeding lip.

Harry suddenly felt the intrusion of something inside of him.  Tom inserted one finger up to the knuckle, and then another, scissoring them until he hit something that made him see stars.  Harry desperately moved his hips, trying to get that elusive feeling back.

“Tom, I can’t—wait, I need— _please_ ,” Tom’s chest rumbled in something akin to pleasure and he grinned, the blood on his lips perfectly matching the color of his eyes.

~What do you want my Harry?  Tell me and I’ll give it to you.~  He muttered the words, nibbling Harry’s ear, breathing harsh and erratic.

~Fuck!  Damnit Tom, fuck me!~

His cock entered Harry in one smooth motion and Harry screamed both at the painful stretch and the intensity of the sensation of fullness.  Tom continued with harsh thrusts, setting a demanding pace as he fucked Harry into the floor.  Meanwhile, the boy—no, man now—hissed sultry nonsense into Harry’s ear driving him into the most intense orgasm he had ever experienced.

The two passed out on the floor, more relaxed than ever before.

*****

Tom awoke to the smell of smoke. 

It wasn’t that unusual, his time in the dregs of muggle London had accustomed him to the smell.  Besides, he knew several people at Hogwarts who smoked despite the fact that he himself never did.  For all their prejudice the members of Slytherin House were quite eager to try out muggle cigarettes while away from the watchful eyes of their parents.

No, the smoke wasn’t unusual.  What was unusual was the fact that he couldn’t remember ever going to bed.

He clenched his eyes, running through his memories with a speed and efficiency he had learned when studying Occlumency.  The last thing he remembered was it being a few minutes before midnight.  He had been reading a copy of _Secrets of the Darkest Arts_.  He may not intend to make a horcrux any longer, but the study of soul magic still fascinated him.

Tom frowned.  If someone had _dared_ to Obliviate him so shoddily then he would tear them to—

“Finally awake I see.”

Tom forced his eyes to open, taking in the sight of Harry seated beside him on the bed that hadn’t been there before, smoking a cigarette, naked as the day he was born…

And the memories came rushing.

His mind froze.  What was one to do in a situation like this?  He knew he wasn’t entirely responsible for his actions last night, but for one who prided himself on his absolute control Tom knew it would have been fairly easy to stop himself had he wanted to.

But he hadn’t wanted to stop.

Tom had heard rumors of the infamous coming-of-age ceremony, something which, annoyingly enough, was barely referred to in any book.  Some of the purebloods in his dorm would comment on theirs being ‘particularly harsh’ or ‘quite refreshing’ or even ‘the worst bloody thing they’d ever experienced.’  Either way, last night’s events were completely unexpected.

“Well that explains a lot.”  Tom pushed away his thoughts to once again focus on the form of Harry Potter.  Lithe but well-toned muscles decorated his form, his hair was even messier than usual giving him a very obvious ‘just shagged’ look, and his neck was covered in several bite marks that would have made Tom blush had he been anyone else.

Harry chucked in response to his single, raised, questioning brow and tossed him a small hand mirror.

Tom almost dropped the mirror when he saw himself.  His eyes…

“Everyone experiences some kind of physical change when gaining their magical inheritance.  For some it’s just a matter of slightly longer hair or healthier skin.”  Harry waved nonchalantly at Tom, snuffing out his cigarette on an ash tray.  Tom could only assume that all the random objects were being provided by the Room of Requirement.

“Someone I knew grew three inches during their coming-of-age.  He said the feeling of his bones being magically stretched was utter agony.”  Harry smiled fondly, but Tom realized that he wanted that smile to be directed towards him.  He didn’t want Harry to get lost in his memories or think fondly of anyone but him.  It was strange.

“What does that have to do with my _eyes_ turning _red_.”  Harry smirked.

“When I turned seventeen I didn’t notice any changes in my appearance.  When I finally left the house I was told that my eyes _glowed_.  Literally, they could light up a dark room.  So I did some research and found out that the change a person undergoes is directly related to the increase in their magic, the more magic a person gains, the more overt the change.”

Tom was beginning to see where this was going.

“And a change in eye color is considered overt?”  Tom questioned.  Despite its strangeness, Tom found he rather liked the situation.  The fact that his inheritance had been so drastic was just further proof of his superiority and the fact that Harry had gone through something similar was proof that he had chosen the correct partner to his plans.

“Well, it’s definitely the rarest.  I’ve only met one other person who claimed their eyes changed color; they went from being black to something that looked like black holes or empty pits.  It was a testament to his skill and talent in Occlumency, but even then his change wasn’t nearly as conspicuous as ours.”

Harry smiled.  If Tom hadn’t been paying attention he wouldn’t have noticed the weariness in the gesture.

“I guess that makes us one of a kind, huh.”

Tom shifted to sit up from his lying position.  He wanted to take a closer look at his companion, to cover every inch of Harry’s body with his own.

It was a maddening realization, that at least a portion of the possessiveness and irrational awareness for the man had been a direct cause of their current condition.  But if that was the case then those feelings should have diminished upon the conclusion of the act, when he had finally taken the object of his desire.

Yet they remained, and they were stronger than ever.

“I wish to speak about what happened.”  Tom said, gauging Harry’s every nuance.  The man in question snorted.  Another false front, he thought.  Tom was getting better at knowing when Harry was misdirecting.

“I don’t.”  Tom’s responding grin was practically feral.

“Then it’s too bad that you’re obligated to do so.  Thirty minutes Harry, starting now.”  The man scowled, but the expression cleared away quickly enough.

“What _happened_ was extremely pleasurable and only that.”  Harry grinned.  “Don’t worry Tom I don’t kiss and tell, we can go back to our lives as per usual.”

Before he realized his own actions, Tom had closed the gap between them and forced Harry onto his back in a sudden burst of strength.  There was a low growl building in his chest, a manifestation of his displeasure at the statement.

“ _Only_ that Harry?  Do you mean to tell me that you felt nothing but physical pleasure during our exchange, that you submitted to me out of nothing more than a desire to get off?”  Tom’s tone was a mocking snarl even as he pressed his naked flesh against his desired. 

Harry was more than a mere fling.  He was not a servant or a follower.  Harry was his partner, his equal.  _His._

“What are you expecting Tom?  Just because we fucked one time doesn’t mean we’re suddenly cuddle buddies.”  Harry mocked him in return.

The man was stubborn, Tom would give him that, but there was no way in _hell_ he would let Harry walk off and pretend that nothing happened.

“But it wasn’t just fucking Harry.  Our magic _bonded_.  Whatever connection already existed between us has been strengthened.  A human horcrux shouldn’t even be possible, but it happened anyways.  You were made for me!”

“ _I am not a prize!_ ”  Harry screamed, tossing Tom off him and the bed in his anger, yet through all of this the man’s magic remained oddly calm, as did Tom’s own.

“I am not something to be conquered _Tom_!  I am not a possession, something to be squirreled off into places unknown, protected by curses and armies of Inferi.”  Harry spat.  His rage was palpable, but it only served to fuel Tom’s own.

~What are you then?  Because you’re certainly not _nothing_.~

The shiver that ran down the man’s spine at the sound of the snake language was ignored.  Tom stood from the ground, his now red eyes piercing as he dissected every ounce of information Harry was giving away, every clue as it appeared.  It all added up to one very unusual conclusion.

Harry was scared?  Of what?  Tom could tell that it wasn’t him, but the man’s reluctance seemed to have a much deeper cause.  Something was holding Harry back.

Tom felt the rage blooming again.

~What is it you fear my Harry?  What is it that compels you to deny what you know to be true?  You are mine, but our oath ensures that I am yours as well.  Why do you run from thissss.~

Harry’s body was as taught as a bowstring.  Tom could see the man gearing up to escape once more, so Tom moved even closer, reaching out to cradle the man’s face more possessively than reassuringly.

~Let me help you Harry.  Let me help you as you help me.~

Harry smiled sadly and shook his head.

“I am beyond help.”  And then he walked away.  Tom wanted nothing more than to grab the man and ravish him until he revealed all of his secrets, but he had used the last of his energy.  His body was still weak from the transition into adulthood.  His eyelids were growing heavier with each passing moment as he was forced to watch Harry’s fading form.

“Happy Birthday Tom.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yup, that was probably the second most important chapter. Please keep in mind that this was my first time writing lemon. I've been practicing, but nothing helps more than criticism.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my goodness a new chapter! I'm so sorry I haven't had a chance to get to all your wonderful comments just yet. I saw a lot of good ones after the last chapter and I really want to spend some time to respond to them all, so please wait just a while longer I promise I have not forgotten about them.
> 
> Please see the end for an important note!!!

There was a change in Slytherin House, and that change was directly related to its King.

Silvus Lestrange returned to the dorms content.  He’d had a productive and enjoyable vacation, furthering his Lord’s work by identifying those in his extended family that would be sympathetic to their cause.  He was perhaps even tad excited to return to class. 

Upon setting foot in the Slytherin common room Silvus was met with most terrifying, Dark, _seductive_ magic he had ever had the pleasure of sensing.

It racked his frame, sending him into a bout of violent shivers that nearly drove him mad.  Silvus clutched at the wall in an effort to remain standing, spotting several euphorically spaced out students sprawled on the common room floor.

It was impossible, he thought, but the sight of his Housemates, particularly the younger years, literally shaking in their shoes had cemented it.

Tom Riddle had gone through his inheritance, and the result could only be described as god-like.

The Slytherins were nothing if not adaptable though.  Silvus went through the rest of his day, finishing his preparations for class, carefully acclimating himself to his Lord’s upgrade in strength as much as he could. 

The Inner Circle rallied around the change.  Silvus and the rest of the Knights of Walpurgis rejoiced at their Lord’s empowerment.  Magic herself had blessed him with the greatest of gifts.

For who could resist such a powerful force?

That was when Tom himself finally made his appearance, returning from the isolated depths of his room to examine his loyal snakes.

Silvus bowed deeply, the only thing that prevented him from kneeling in reverence was the presence of the other students. His thoughts raced as he tried to categorize the many changes he had noticed.

As a muggle-raised, his Lord had always been prone to some habitual actions, brushing his teeth or styling his hair manually.  There were no signs of those habits now.  If anything Tom had ended up going much further in the opposite direction and was now using magic for absolutely _everything_.

Dressing, cleaning, even carrying his books was done magically.  Silvus knew intellectually that this was Tom’s body attempting to balance itself out by using some of its excess magic, but for someone like Tom who was proficient in wandless magic every twitch, every gesture sent another wave of that intoxicating magic rolling through the common room.

Those that didn’t already respect Tom were tripping over themselves to appease him, but by far the greatest change of all was the eyes.

Red like smoldering embers, the deepest of rubies, or the finest of wines.

Silvus could get lost in those eyes, the final proof that his Lord was favored by Magic.  He had been claimed in the most obvious of ways.  Rumor had it that the last person to be Marked by Magic so clearly was Merlin himself.

Tom sat in his customary seat before the fireplace his eyes dispassionately scanning his followers as they held court around him.  This was his place, Silvus thought, standing above them, looking more regal than ever.

The King of Snakes was now an adult in the eyes of the law.  He was acknowledged by Magic.  Silvus covered his mouth to hide the manic grin spreading across his face.

_‘Let the wizarding world tremble before his might.’_

*****

Tom repressed another wince as his third potions attempt burst into flames.  Luckily he was skilled enough to banish the cauldron before the disaster could spread, but it didn’t change the fact that everyone in the room had noticed that, for the first time ever, Tom Riddle was having trouble in class.

“Another one Tom?  That’s the third cauldron!”  The Slytherins cringed at the sight of their Lord’s suppressed rage.  His magic roared and beat against its barriers with such force that anyone within a few feet of the teen had trouble drawing breath.

“Apologies Professor Slughorn.”  Tom’s words were short and clipped, a polite smile plastered over the nearly imperceptible displeasure oozing from his every pore.  “I’ve been having trouble controlling my magic.”

Slughorn nodded in what he probably thought was a sagely fashion.  To Tom he looked like a rather flabby bulldog.

“Not to worry Tom we’ve all been through it.  I remember making quite the mess in my Charms class the day after my inheritance.  Though, yours does seem to be lasting longer than usual I’m sure that’s just a testament to the sizable growth in your core.”  The Professor chortled noisily.  “I’m sure you’ll be back to your normal, brilliant self in no time.”

Tom glared at the back of the potion’s Professor as he shuffled away, trying to control his own reflexive desire to simply squash the man where he stood.

His magic was being… difficult, for lack of a better word, and in a class like a Potions where every ingredient was sensitive to magic, the results tended to be explosive. 

In the time between waking up on the cold sheets of a bed in the Room of Requirement to the first day of classes, Tom had done almost nothing other than try to find a way to control his now nearly uncontrollable magic.

He’d tried everything from meditation to obscure rituals, but nothing seemed to be making any difference.

Perhaps worst of all was the fact that Dumbledore had gone from merely a hindrance to an outright hostility.  The Transfiguration Professor had called Tom out on every error, every instance of anything less than utter perfection was scrutinized.

He narrowed his eyes, the stormy greys of his glamour flickering into red for an instant.  Tom couldn’t allow any of the students, much less the Professors to view him as weak, especially now that there were Aurors wandering about the halls.  Apparently the Minister had chosen to address the most easily remedied concern, the thought that Hogwarts may not be as safe as purported.  The reality of the matter was that the raid on Samhain was an isolated incident, a very well planned move on Grindelwald’s part but one that he would be foolish to repeat now knowing what he did.

Had Harry not been there the man very well may have taken Hogwarts, but now the outcry from concerned parents demanded that the Ministry do _something_ and Minister Diggory had taken that opportunity to kill two birds with one stone: fortify Hogwarts with Aurors thus quelling the protests of both parents and those that felt the Ministry wasn’t taking an active enough part in the war.

Diggory was still resolutely maintaining his stance that there were no Reapers in Britain, but now he could be seen as productive rather than lazy and cowardly.

The motives behind the actions of the Minister were no secret, but a certain Deputy Professor had been unusually quiet as of late.  There was no doubt in his mind that the old man had connected the magical backlash from over the break to Tom’s inheritance, but besides his borderline harassment inside of class, Dumbledore had yet to act.  The old man’s lack of a response was unnerving, even more so in light of Tom’s sudden difficulty Occluding.

It was all the more reason for him to get this under control.

Tom had made plans to spend the rest of the day inside the Room of Requirement working off some of his excess magic on training dummies with familiarly long beards.  The Slytherins would just have to make do without his presence at dinner.

Tom was already on the seventh floor, pacing in front of that ridiculous tapestry of dancing trolls.  The constant feel of his magic pressing against his skin, fighting its way out of his body was enough to drive his manic need to get away from everything, from everyone.

Thus, when he opened the newly appeared door and found the Room already occupied Tom had to resist the urge to curse.

“I need the Room tonight Harry.”  Tom raised his chin, now suddenly more annoyed with his inexplicable inability to control his own magic.  Power came with a cost and Tom had never taken into consideration just how difficult suppressing this much magic would be.

Somehow, Harry had managed to make the act seem almost effortless, barely taking a moment to wrestle back control on the rare occasions that he lost it.  The only real time Tom caught a glimpse of the power buried beneath the surface was on that eventful Samhain and the strange few days that followed.

Unfortunately for Tom, even Occlumency seemed to do little in the face of his Inheritance and he was in no mood to deal with Harry when the man persisted in snubbing his generous offers.

Harry snorted.  It was the only acknowledgement Tom received.  The rage within him bubbled forth and several things happened at once.

The four training dummies that Harry had been dueling against combusted in a burst of dark, vicious looking flames, Harry spun on his heel, his cloak flaring behind him as he held his wand between himself and Tom, and finally the ground beneath Tom’s feet began to rumble and crack against the onslaught of his undirected magic.

The situation held for several seconds.  For a long time there was nothing but the light sounds of Harry’s breaths, his exercise routine having apparently only barely winded him.

“What are you doing Tom?”  The two circled each other cautiously.  Tom lacked the patience to be lenient with the defiant man and Harry was internally gauging whether or not the younger man was a threat.

“Your magic is all over the place, I could feel it from the other side of the school.  What are you up to?”

Tom scowled, his emotions taking another dangerous dip into an area that had remained uncharted since his early childhood.

“Leave Harry.”

The man frowned, not faltering in his cautious motions.  The two circled each other like predators facing off on a savanna.

“No time for politesse today, Riddle?”  Tom didn’t know why the sudden use of his last name created another surge of annoyance.  “I thought you were the quintessential Slytherin, always calm and cool in the face of the public—“

He cut Harry off with a bone breaking curse, more violent and jagged than he ever would have intended.  Harry dodged the streaking bolt of magic with barely a thought, instead focusing on Tom with an even greater scrutiny.

“You can’t control it.”  He finally concluded, and the presumption was almost enough to set Tom off again.

The man was silent, smug in his realization, as though the fact that Tom was having trouble controlling his new vast stores of magic had confirmed some sort of universal truth for him.  They circled each other again.

“It won’t go away, you know.”  Tom sneered, but remained silent.  Harry seemed to take his lack of verbal protest as permission to continue.  “That’s how it works for everyone else, their body and magic eventually find some kind of equilibrium.  But not us.”

Had Tom been thinking properly he probably would have analyzed the logic of that statement.  After all, if his magic was so great that his body would not adjust to it naturally then there must be a potion or ritual of some kind that would help the issue.  Perhaps he could even consult the family library of one of his followers and resolve the problem entirely.

But Tom wasn’t thinking straight, and instead he drew his wand with a speed he didn’t know he was capable of and began firing various curses at the Assistant who insisted on being cryptic.

Harry dodged and returned fire with his own volley of spells.  Off the top of his head Tom could tell the man had cast _Flippendo, Stupefy, Incendio,_ and _Diffindo_ with nearly no break between them.   It was almost admirable the way Harry could chain spells, finishing the wand movements for one before smoothly transitioning into the next.  It was incredible, and Tom would have been a fool to expect anything less.

His magic pulsed and flared in response channeling eagerly into his yew wand as he deflected the spells.  Harry flitted around him, firing jinxes and hexes from all sides even as Tom remained almost stubbornly stationary.

He didn’t feel the need to move.  And why should he?  Was his magic not the greatest since Merlin’s?  Why should he stoop to muggle methods when he could merely use his magic to overpower the obstinate man and finally teach him his place?

Tom slashed the air horizontally and sent a rather powerful cutting curse towards Harry with the shortsighted intention of slicing him in half.  Harry ducked low to avoid the spell, whistling as it created a large indent in wall behind him.

Already they had done significant damage to the Room of Requirement, but the two were showing no signs of stopping.

Harry ran a careless hand through his hair and glanced back towards Tom, whose glamour had long since been disrupted revealing a dangerously narrowed pair of red eyes.  The man smiled serenely, seemingly unaffected by Tom’s outburst when by all accounts he should have been running for the hills.

Tom didn’t know what to expect anymore… and he hated it.

“What do you say we kick things up a notch?”

Within one baffled blink Harry had disappeared from Tom’s vision.  The next thing the teen felt was the impact of something hard colliding with the side of his head.

He flew, blood streaming from his temple as he attempted to regain his bearings.  Whatever had hit him had rattled his skull, sending his thoughts careening into an even greater disarray.  With great effort and blurry vision he managed to open his eyes.

Harry stood there, not a hair out of place and a distinctive red stain marring the leather of his left boot heel.

“You know, the thing about using magic to fortify one’s body is that it’s actually quite tricky.”  Tom huffed, his breath coming out ragged and uneven.  He bared his teeth in a bloody snarl as his magic proceeded to heal the worst of his injuries without his conscious approval.  Harry smirked uncharacteristically and continued to speak.

“The technique isn’t something one learns overnight, and you’ve barely scratched the surface.”

And Harry disappeared from his sight again.  Reacting mostly on instinct Tom threw out his hand, forgoing his wand entirely, and proceeded to ignite the air immediately to his left with a harsh hiss of Parseltongue.

Harry appeared within the smoke and flame, a counterclockwise twist and a sharp downward jab of his wand extinguishing the spell fire before it could do more than singe his clothing.  Tom climbed to his feet and banished the last of the blood.  His magic crackled dangerously.

“I can see you’re eager to learn more Tom.  Consider this a lesson.”

*****

Not even a breath later and Harry was forced to dodge another barrage of spells.  Tom’s magic filled the air around him like a cloud of noxious gas, that in and of itself was enough to convince Harry to maintain his distance.

He wondered not for the first time why he was even doing this.  It had been a long time since he had needed to enhance his speed with magic, and the technique was just as bothersome as always.

Outwardly he appeared unruffled, but on the inside Harry was devoting the utmost focus to defensive maneuvers, only returning fire when he was sure he would land a decent hit on the feral teen.  Unfortunately for him Tom was practically a human juggernaut at this point.  Anything that his magic didn’t stop entirely was healed in barely a few seconds.

Harry could feel his own magic struggling against him, desperate to combat the adversary.  That was the thing about magic, it didn’t care what it was being used for, it just wanted to be used.

It would appear that Harry was fighting a futile battle.  Tom’s inheritance had most certainly brought his magic levels up to Harry’s own.  There was little difference between the two now in terms of pure magical strength, but Harry had skill and experience on his side, for all the good that it did.

He hissed inaudibly as another wild attack nearly severed his arm.

Almost a lifetime ago Harry had once gone through the something similar.  High on magic, he’d almost gotten Ron, Hermione, and himself killed.  It was Hermione that figured it out in the end, he thought nostalgically.  She was the one that discovered that so much excess magic had an almost drug like effect on the mind.

It lowered inhibitions, dulled pain, and artificially raised one’s energy levels.  If Harry let Tom be it was likely that he would turn a good chunk of the school into rubble before he ran through his magic, at which point he would go into a coma of sorts, wake up, and begin the cycle over again until his body finally fell apart.

No, he couldn’t just leave the little Dark Lord, if not for the students than for Hogwarts’ sake.  The old castle was strong but even she couldn’t withstand that kind of force from the inside.

Which meant he had to teach Tom how to control his magic, but the way the teen was behaving made it clear that the methods Harry had used wouldn’t work here.

Harry was never as smart as Hermione, so he could only think of one way to accomplish the task, and it was pretty drastic. Well, desperate times call for desperate measures.

He glanced over at Tom just in time to see him beginning the incantation for another Dark and wholly illegal curse.  This mindless destruction wasn’t Tom.  The teen he had gotten to know was better than this, better than Voldemort.

Harry had to smother the manic grin that was beginning to grow on his face as another wave of Tom’s magic swept by his own.  His magic crackled ominously.

Harry would bring Tom back, even if it meant tearing him apart first.

*****

Tom hit the ground hard, just barely managing to turn his fall into a roll in time to avoid another nasty spell sent his way.

“Again,” Harry’s dispassionate voice rang out across the room.  Tom had been hearing that one word a lot in the last few hours and he had finally reached his limit.

“No.”

“ _Again,_ ” Harry’s insistence was punctuated by several painful hexes that made Tom hiss in concealed agony.  He had run out of the energy to heal himself over an hour ago and while Harry may have avoided using illegal curses, overpowered hexes could be just as punishing.

“No!”  Harry sneered.  It was an expression Tom never wanted to see on the man ever again.  It was ugly, a ridiculing thing.  Tom hated it.

“Done already Riddle?  Is this all you’re capable of?  Pathetic.  The Dark Lord I knew could single-handedly take down an entire squadron of Aurors, and I’m not talking about those soft things that prance about in the uniform and pretend they know what they’re doing.  I’m talking about real, battle hardened, _Aurors_.”

Tom breathed heavily, his entire body was heaving in exhaustion and his magic was running on fumes.  His hair fell over his face, darkening his already clouded expression and making his red eyes appear positively demonic.

“You’ve never felt the limits of your own magic have you Tom?  You’ve never felt the bottom of your reserves, never been _truly_ helpless.”  Harry tilted his head, sizing him up, before rolling his eyes and dismissing him entirely.

Tom _hated_ it.

He pointed his wand and didn’t even bother thinking of a spell, he just wanted Harry in _pain_.

The man went down with a short yell, and for a single moment Tom thought he finally had him, but Harry gathered his strength and broke away from his desperation fueled spell and returned the volley with something that knocked Tom back another ten feet.

He skid on the ground, his magic, once hot and angry around him, was terrifyingly absent as the man finally decided to approach him.

“What does that make you, Tom?  A _child_ , barely better than the muggles you scorn.  What are you without your magic?  I stop taking it easy for a few minutes and you fold like a house of cards.  I’ve seen people half your age with twice as much resolve as you.”

“ _No!_ ”   On another day Tom would wince at how inarticulate he had become in the moment.  He, who prided himself on his endless composure and control, was pushed this far.  Tom would wonder if that was more a statement on Harry’s skills or his own lack thereof.  But today was not that day, and Tom currently had far more important things to think about.

“No?  Then get up and prove it!  Right now you don’t even rise to the standards of your future counterpart.  At least he managed to die on his knees.”

Tom reached within himself and grasped at the last vestiges of his energy.  For the first time in his life he felt the bottom of his nearly bottomless magical core, but the sensation didn’t faze him nearly as much as it should have.  Right now he was focused on _standing up and proving Harry wrong_.

He forced himself onto his hands and knees.  The action must have cost more than he thought, because a wave of vertigo threatened to topple him.  It was only sheer stubbornness that kept him conscious and Tom pushed that stubbornness to its limits when he started to stand.

One foot, then the other, and after a few minutes Tom had managed to stretch to his full height, which was at least a few inches taller than Harry.

His red eyes glared into green, daring the man to question his resolve again.  What happened next shouldn’t have been a surprise.  Defiance could only take him so far and Tom had long since reached the end of his reserves.

His vision bled black as the anger that had kept him standing until that point finally dissolved and the last thing Tom saw was Harry’s brilliant smile as the darkness pulled him under.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all the readers that have come this far. In preparation for writing this latest chapter I decided to reread the whole series from beginning to end. What I saw was the most careless, despicable, hodgepodge of unacceptable typos I've ever seen. To all you readers, I commend you on your tolerance and restraint in reading that... _mess_ and not commenting on every single very obvious error.
> 
> I, unfortunately, am not as strong as you all, and cannot continue to look at that disaster. I will not punish my readers for my own failings, so I will NOT delay the next chapter to do the full edit that this work so desperately needs, but as soon as 'Times of Change' is finished (and we're pretty close to the end) I'm going through both stories and editing the hell out of them.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the chapter!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woah, it's been a long time. I'm very sorry for the wait. I don't really have an excuse other than I got distracted by school, so... forgive me? Anyways, this is where things start getting real. Enjoy!

**Ancient and Noble House of Potter Attacked in Family Home!  Is Anyone Safe?**

The Headline of the Daily Prophet was suitably morbid for the occasion.  Albus sat heavily in his seat, skimming the article with great reluctance.

The Potter family had been attacked at their main residence by an ‘unknown group of assailants.’  The article never explicitly called them Reapers, but it was implied well enough.

Gellert had seen fit to not only go after an Ancient and Noble bloodline, but to attack them in their own family home, and there was only one reason Albus could thing of that would justify such an action.

Gellert was searching for the legendary Invisibility Cloak.

As soon as news of the attack reached him Albus made his way to the Potters, who had escaped mostly unharmed except for Lord Potter, young Charlus’ father, who was still recovering from rather grave injuries in St. Mungo’s.  The remaining members of the family had closed ranks around each other, completely unwilling to provide Albus with even the smallest scraps of information.

Charlus was a kind fourth year Gryffindor, lively and charismatic.  Albus believed the boy had a bright future ahead of him, but even young Charlus had reacted quite coldly when he had tried to subtly probe for the reasons behind the attack.

The end result was that Albus had no idea whether or not Gellert was successful in obtaining the Invisibility Cloak, which the Potter family had been rumored to carry for generations.  If not, then he would have to insist that the family remain inside the wards of Hogwarts castle for the foreseeable future, for their own protection of course, and if he had… well then, that was just one more Deathly Hallow that Gellert had managed to capture.

Albus released the newspaper which he had been unknowingly crushing in his grip.  There was no time left, he needed to accelerate his plans or Gellert may succeed in what no one had done before.

He could become the Master of Death.

The mere thought made him shiver.  No, it was much better to do everything he could to prevent his old friend from obtaining the last remaining Hallow.  Unfortunately, he had almost no information on the whereabouts of the Resurrection Stone.  At some point, the line of Cadmus Peverell seemed to have mysteriously vanished, leaving no trace of the heirloom.

Still, that meant that it was unlikely that Gellert knew where the Stone was either, but Albus could not afford to take that chance.  He needed to undermine Gellert’s efforts immediately and that meant stripping away his power base and preventing any further recruitment.

Albus turned his thoughts towards the ticking time bomb that was Harrison Evans.  He was a loose end, an unknown element that could aid Gellert’s cause in terrible ways and Albus knew just how obsessive his old friend could become.  He still wasn’t quite sure whether or not the boy would give his assistance willingly, but Albus knew better than anyone just how charming and persuasive Gellert could be, especially when it came to courting those who interested him.

Even more disturbingly there was another force he would have to look out for now.

Tom Riddle.

On December 31st, the boy’s seventeenth birthday, nearly the entirety of the remaining Hogwarts occupants found themselves inside the Healing Wing.  Madame Willoby had to put off treating her own symptoms of magical overexposure to see to the students.

Albus hadn’t slept a wink that night.

There was little he could do to isolate young Tom from the rest of the student body, but the first class that had followed the incident only cemented Albus’ opinion that Harrison, at the very least, needed to be kept away from Tom at all costs.

The boy’s magic was vast, but even more than that it was _sinister_.  Being near Tom Riddle felt quite like peering into an abyss and the _Darkness_ that he saw there shouldn’t have been allowed to exist.

Tom Riddle was reminding him of Gellert in the worst ways imaginable and he was horrified to even think of what would happen if either of them got their hands on Harrison and his own unpredictable brand of power.

He shifted his grip on his wand uncomfortably.

Harrison wasn’t safe inside Hogwarts.  Powerful he may be, but the boy was undeniably naïve, and if the way the other students were reacting to Tom’s mere presence was any indication, he would very easily be sucked into the orbit of the Dark child.

It was time to take action.

*****

Tom awoke within the Room of Requirements.  Taking a brief moment to be annoyed at the frequency of his unconscious state within the Room, he then catalogued his surroundings as per usual.

Unlike the last occasion in which he had lost consciousness, Tom woke up feeling refreshed.  Like a great weight had been removed from him and he could finally feel his body completely.  He was hyperaware of his own physicality, but rather than disturbing him it felt… comforting, peaceful even.

Harry was in the Room with him, as expected, but the man didn’t seem to have noticed that he had awoken.  His brow was furrowed and his eyes were squeezed shut in intense concentration.  Tom almost let out a startled laugh when he realized that the man was attempting, and failing, to meditate.

Tom moved slowly, carefully shifting out from underneath the comforter and padding towards Harry’s position with all the silent grace of a dangerous predator.  The usually paranoid man’s complete lack of awareness for his surroundings spoke of a delightful level of trust.  Tom suspected that this trust mostly acted on a subconscious level, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t take advantage of it.

Harry was seated on a sedate, brown armchair, still shirtless and covered in a thin sheen of sweat.  Tom leaned in close, a hand on each arm of the chair, carefully encircling his prey as he clinically observed the rise and fall of Harry’s chest and brought his mouth just a mere inch from the man’s ear.

“You’re doing it wrong.” 

Predictably, Harry jerked into awareness only to realize his vulnerable position beneath Tom’s not unsubstantial form.  The Slytherin smirked at Harry’s indignant fury and responded by placing one of his hands just high up enough on the man’s thigh to be deemed inappropriate.

“Good, you’re awake.  You can go now.”  Harry said, seemingly unruffled by the presumptuous touch.

“I think I’d rather stay,” Tom ignored the not so subtle implication and continued his explorations, using his knee to nudge Harry’s legs apart and bringing it to rest on the cushion of the chair.  “It seems so much more interesting in here.”

Harry scowled.

“Be that as it may, I was using the Room before you arrived and forced me to assist you in controlling your own magic.  I’d like to get back to what I was doing before you so rudely interrupted.”

Tom twitched at the implication that he needed help controlling his magic.  Still, the insinuation was clear, if not a pleasant realization.

Without warning he pressed his lips into Harry’s.  They were warm, not the feverish heat from before, but a pleasant rush of blood.  He moved into the kiss, pressing his body more deeply against Harry’s, wanting to _feel_ it as the elder writhed beneath him.

Tom trailed his fingers on Harry’s ribs, enjoying way the man couldn’t help but shiver.  He could feel his pants tightening as arousal coiled in his stomach.

But something was wrong.  Harry wasn’t resisting, not nearly as much as he normally would.  The man was responding, but his reactions were sluggish, lacking that undeniable intensity that Tom had come to enjoy. 

He wondered why he cared.  Tom was getting what he wanted—Harry, laid out beneath him submissively—but the whole situation left a bad taste in his mouth.  Inexplicably, he wanted that fire to return, he wanted Harry to _resist_ so that Tom may subdue him properly.  Thus, Tom did the unthinkable.

Harry gasped as he moved away.

“Are you okay?”  It was an uncharacteristic question, but Harry’s responding scowl confirmed his suspicions.

“I’m fine.”

For someone so terrible at lying, Harry lied a lot.  Tom growled in response and gripped the stubborn man’s limbs more tightly, just enough to bruise.  Harry would never admit the true answer to that question, so Tom would have to make him.

The chair suddenly turned into a luxurious bed and Tom flipped the two of them over, maneuvering the other man until he was resting his head on Tom’s chest and their legs were tangled together.  Harry squirmed weakly, his failure to escape Tom’s hold only further proving the falsehood of his words.

Something was wrong.

Tom gripped Harry by the waist more firmly, his arms shackles across his stomach as he spoke lowly.

“Why don’t you tell me what’s wrong, my dear.”  It wasn’t a question, and Harry knew that, but the man just couldn’t resist being contrary.

“Because Tom,” he began, “you’re a terrible therapist.”

Tom grinned into the man’s hair.  It smelled sweet, but somehow spicy at the same time.  Tom felt like he could drown in it.  “And how does that make you feel?”

Harry snorted a laugh and began to relax into Tom’s hold for a moment, but then the man caught himself and tensed up again.

Tom’s pleasant mood just about vanished.

*****

Harry was growing more uncomfortable with each second the silence stretched on.  He had been bantering with Tom of all people.  He had resolved to give the teen a chance, to not think of him as the Voldemort he was far too familiar with, but he also couldn’t afford to get too close to him.

There were so many things Tom sill didn’t know, and if Harry had anything to say about it he would never find out.

“Well, if you’re not going to let me finish my training then I might as well go to bed.”  Harry spoke as indifferently as he could.  It was getting harder to do.

“What a wonderful idea Harry!”

He noticed that Tom had yet to release him, and considering he was still as weak as a newborn calf, Harry lacked the strength to break away from the teen’s possessive grip.

“Are you going to let go of me?”

“No,” and Harry could just _hear_ the smirk in the other’s voice.

“But you said—“

“In case you forgot _Harry_ , we are currently on a bed, and I am quite comfortable with this position.  By all means, feel free to sleep.”

Harry felt a vein in his forehead throb in irritation.  He never would have guessed just how tactile the teen was.  Harry had never enjoyed touch, mainly because of the tender loving care of his dear relatives, and he had suspected that Tom felt the same for similar reasons.  Yet and still Harry found himself being touched and caressed and downright molested by the teen on more occasions than he could count, and now Tom was apparently trying to convince him to sleep!  In this position, limbs restrained and utterly vulnerable.

The worst part was that Harry couldn’t convince himself that he didn’t like it.

“You’re insane if you think I’m going to fall asleep like this.”

He gave his best effort at escaping once more, despite how much it tired him, despite how truly exhausted he was.  The most he accomplished was amusing, and possibly arousing, Tom with his squirming.  Harry would hate feeling this helpless under normal circumstances, but being forced to remain in the same room as Tom bloody Riddle when he could barely walk was another level of humiliating.

But Tom’s magic was strong.  In fact, his physical condition was probably at its peak right now having just been realigned with his magic mere hours ago.  If Tom didn’t want to release him then there really wasn’t anything Harry could do.

But Harry would never _admit_ that.

It was a few more minutes of ineffective escape attempts before Tom felt the need to speak again.

“Is being in my arms really so unpleasant?”

Harry choked on the words that instinctively wanted to leave his mouth.  The answer should have been obvious, he thought.  Getting out of this room and away from Tom should have been his highest priority, so why couldn’t he just say the words?

Harry heard Tom sigh from behind him.  This time he did not struggle, but Harry still felt like he was suffocating in the silence.

Where would this path lead?

“What you said about Voldemort,” Tom said suddenly, a strange vulnerability in his voice as he clutched the older man closer to his chest.  “Was that true?”

Something unpleasant curled in Harry’s stomach as he was struck with an ugly realization.  Tom was young, almost dangerously so.  Sure, he had turned seventeen and gone through his magical maturity, but compared to Voldemort, Tom Riddle was practically a child.

Harry recalled the memories he had been shown of Voldemort’s life, being told by Headmaster Dippet to travel the world, gain new experiences before committing to the job of a Professor, working at Borgin and Burkes for a year.  It was there that he had discovered the locations of two of his horcruxes, taking both the Locket and the Cup from Hebzibah Smith before killing the unfortunate old woman.

But no one, not even Dumbledore, knew where Voldemort went between then and his return to Hogwarts.  Harry knew that the man must have visited Albania in order to collect the Diadem, but beyond that he was just as clueless as the rest of the world.

A person was the sum of their experiences, and fifty years was a long time. 

Whatever happened, it wasn’t Tom Riddle that entered Hogwarts that day to apply for a job.  Voldemort had come back a changed man, and even in a memory colored by Dumbledore’s perception Harry could see the differences.  Some of the changes had likely been a result of his travels, but the vast majority were certainly from the five horcruxes he possessed.

There was something sharper about him at that point, something colder, and Harry couldn’t help but wonder what would have happened if Dumbledore had just given the rising Dark Lord the job.

Would he have stopped his plans entirely, discovered a newfound joy in educating the young and dropped his ideas for conquest?

… probably not.

But maybe his life wouldn’t have ended the way it had.

“Yes,” he finally answered.  Harry felt Tom let out a shaky breath beneath him.  Had he only been looking at him he probably wouldn’t have noticed the tenseness of the teen’s form, but their close proximity ensured that Harry was almost too aware of the turmoil currently raging through Tom’s head.

“I won’t let it end like that.”  Harry turned his head slightly so that he could fully meet Tom’s burning red eyes.  “Not this time.”

Harry didn’t know why he felt compelled to reassure him.  He didn’t know why he felt so comfortable in Tom’s arms, but there was one thing he knew for certain.

Unlike Lord Voldemort, Tom Riddle would not die on his knees.

He wouldn’t allow it. 

The silence was calm, it was peaceful, and Harry couldn’t stop himself from slowly drifting off to sleep.

*****

“Next week we’ll be starting on live combat scenarios.  I’ll have some creatures and obstacles for you to actually _defend_ against, and I’ll be grading your performances.”  Harrison Evans grinned at the paled expressions of his students.  “Sleep well tonight!”

Maen Prince watched as the class quickly filed out the door.  Some, he suspected, were currently planning last minute study sessions.  Harrison Evans may have been an easy going person most of the time, but anyone could see just how seriously the man took Defense. 

He made eye contact with his Lord, waiting for Tom to nod slightly in confirmation as he exited the room.

Maen breathed out softly and steeled himself.

His Lord had given him very specific instructions: follow Evans and _do not let him out of sight_.  For whatever reason Tom expected something to happen, either that or he was simply uncomfortable leaving Evans’ side for any period of time.  Maen didn’t know which.

Evans was strong though.  He knew from personal experience just how formidable the Assistant was, but Tom had been adamant.  Evans was not to leave his sight.

Thus, he was currently attempting to follow a man, who, for all intents and purposes, was practically impossible to follow.

Somehow, after only a few short months, Evans knew the school better than the seventh years, probably better than the Professors as well.  Practically everyone knew at this point that Evans was borderline paranoid and had a habit of disappearing after classes, so if Maen wanted to have even a chance of keeping track of the man he would have to be quick.

Luckily, that proved to be unnecessary.

“Mr. Evans,” a voice called out.  Maen watched from his position at the end of the hallway as Minerva almost fell over herself in her attempt to catch the Assistant before he vanished for the day.  He had a vague idea of what the girl wanted, she was one of the few that actually thought of the bigger picture when attending classes, but at the same time she displayed an unusual amount of interest in the man.

Maen hoped it was an innocent interest, but just in case he made a mental note to find out for sure, if only to sate Tom’s possessiveness.

The girl managed to catch Evans’ attention and the two began conversing in the hall.  Maen pulled out a book and leaned against the wall, a small Notice-Me-Not aiding his efforts to look inconspicuous.  It must have worked because neither of the two spared him more than a glance.

Their conversation lasted a few minutes before Evans’ seemingly said his goodbyes, but oddly enough Minerva cut him off, stepping into his path and resuming their conversation.  There was now a great deal of concealed annoyance in Evans’ expression, but like always the man was terrible at hiding anything, so either Minerva was truly that oblivious, or she was being willfully ignorant of Evans’ desire to end the conversation.

Maen narrowed his eyes in contemplation.  Tom had told him to stay out of sight, but he knew his Lord wouldn’t like that someone was getting close to Evans.  He was still uncertain of the exact nature of the relationship the two shared, but it was… intense, and Tom rarely tolerated excuses.

Decision made, Maen began to make his way towards the two.

“Harrison Evans,” a loud voice called out, halting his movement abruptly.  Maen had only a moment to conceal himself once more as half a dozen Aurors seemingly appeared out of thin air.

Prince almost growled under his breath.  Those worthless _posers_ , he spat within the confines of his mind.  He had no respect for the Aurors stationed within the school, and most of the student body shared his opinion on the matter.  They were cocky, overbearing, and worst of all, they were incompetent.

Maen had seen a few of them walk right past a third year Slytherin practically getting lynched without even breaking their stride.  Whatever tensions that had already existed between the Slytherins and the rest of the school were only exacerbated by those peons.

But he had to put aside his anger.  There was something happening in front of him and Maen knew that the Aurors would never bother getting involved unless they had something planned.

“Can I help you?”  Evans asked, face unnervingly blank.

A young one stepped forward, barely a few years older than Evans himself.  His back was straight with confidence, arrogance rather, but his stance was pitifully defenseless.  Maen watched as the Assistant Professor tilted his head, as though a snake eying its next meal.  He let out an involuntary shudder beneath his Disillusionment charm.

“We’re going to have to ask you to come with us.” 

“Where and why?”  He asked tersely, frowning.

“The Ministry, I’m afraid we have a few questions for you, Mr. Evans.”  The Auror answered impatiently.  Maen could already see the others attempting to draw their wands subtly, but if he had spotted their movements then Evans almost certainly had as well.

“On what grounds?”

“It’s just an interview.  We don’t need to provide a reason for something like that.”  The nameless Auror was so utterly condescending.  Maen suspected he was some half-blood spawn of a third rate house, because he certainly hadn’t met the man before.  Regardless, Evans was not the type to be cowed by threats, implicit or otherwise.

“Oh, well in that case then you won’t mind me declining your invitation.  As you can see I’m rather busy right now.”

That was when he once again became aware of the smallish form of Minerva McGonagall, half hidden behind Evans’ far more imposing form.

The situation was not good, though.  Maen could tell everyone in the hall was only a few seconds from erupting into conflict, but he didn’t know whether or not he should interfere.

It was too late.  On some sort of unspoken signal, the first spell was fired.  Unsurprisingly, it had been one of the Aurors who attacked first, their pathetic, undisciplined spellwork making them easy targets.

The sounds of the scuffle were loud enough that someone should have heard by now and alerted a Professor, and yet none came.  Amidst the lights and flashes, Maen could only suspect that this was a set-up of some kind, and not a poorly executed one.  If not for the fact that Evans was far beyond the skill level of these pawns, then perhaps they would have succeeded in taking him wherever they planned on going.

But Evans was not an easy target.  Whoever was pulling these Aurors’ strings had gotten cocky and thought his half-trained lackeys would be a match for the man that picked off a few dozen Reapers without gaining more than some minor injuries.

Maen’s money was on the Minister, but for the life of him he couldn’t figure out the man’s motive for doing all this.

By now Evans had managed to take down half of the group even handicapped with protecting Minerva.  The remaining Aurors had lost some of their undeserved confidence and were now desperately trying to fend off the Assistant’s counterattack.

Maen wanted to laugh at their idiocy.  If there was one thing the man had managed to teach them it was that panicking merely made wizards easier targets.  Their already sloppy and uncoordinated dueling began to break down even further.  It wouldn’t be long before the fight was over and Maen could return to his Lord with the rather unpleasant news of the event.

But something Maen could not have predicted happened.  Minerva seemed to have finally remembered some of the vaunted Gryffindor courage and drew her wand.  Evans was still remaining stubbornly stationary in front of her form, bodily defending her from any stray attacks.

The Gryffindor prefect raised her wand, looking for all intents as though she was about to jump into the fray.

But she did not step out from behind Evans, and she did not attack the Aurors.

Minerva leveled her wand, and with great finality she cast a Stupefy right at Evans’ unprotected back.

The man was powerfully stubborn, but even he could not fend off the inevitable loss of consciousness for long.  Harrison Evans stayed awake just long enough to turn around and look upon the face of his betrayer.  He looked at Minerva McGonagall with a combination of anger, betrayal, and… resignation?

Maen couldn’t tell exactly, but as the Aurors began to walk off with the limp body of the Assistant he began to dread the story he would have to tell his Lord.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How many of you saw that coming? You all better buckle your seatbelts, cause we're going full throttle right to the end!
> 
> Please comment with suggestions, criticisms, and speculations.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is! I'm sorry for the wait. I had originally intended to release this chapter before the end of the year, but obviously that didn't happen. Instead, I ended up rewriting the first scene maybe five or six times. There are a _lot_ of important things that get set up in that first scene so I hope you all like it.
> 
> On another note, I was glad to see that the comments were about 50/50 split on that reveal from the last chapter. Its good to see that I gave enough hints that some people got it, but also that it was still unexpected enough to be considered a good 'twist.'
> 
> Please enjoy this new chapter.

Albus quickly made his way through the main area of the Ministry and towards the elevators.  He didn’t want anyone to put too much thought into his current presence.

Harrison Evans had been transported inside the building mere minutes before his arrival, and Albus knew the boy could be tricky, so he wanted to apply his own protections to the boy’s room as soon as possible.

He could take the opportunity to speak to young Harrison as well.

The elevator doors chimed open as they lowered onto the second basement level.  As he suspected, the floor was nearly deserted, remnants of previous occupants still cluttering the unused cells that nobody had bothered to clean since the Ministry began using Azkaban to house criminals.

Albus frowned as he entered.  There was only one guard watching Harrison’s cell, and a rather young one at that.  He had expected Anton would underestimate Harrison, becoming the Minister of Magic hadn’t exactly wizened up the brash boy he remembered from school, but Albus had hoped that the man would have dedicated at least a few Aurors to prevent any unseen events.

No matter, he sighed.  Albus would just have to personally make sure the boy wouldn’t escape.

“Good evening, my boy!”  He said cheerfully.  The nervous Auror awkwardly jumped to his feet upon hearing the greeting.

“P-professor Dumbledore!”  The young man in the room stood stiffly at full attention.  Albus recognized him as one of his students.  A Gryffindor, he remembered, but not a terribly talented one.  James - something, he thought. 

“Now, now, there’s no need for formalities.  It’s been a long time since I was your Professor, my boy.  Where is your partner?”  He asked.

James blushed in both embarrassment and mortification, aware that all on duty Aurors were technically supposed to remain within easy access of their partners at all times.  He muttered something or other about “lunch” and “lazy bastards” as he stepped aside to allow Albus closer to the cell containing young Harrison Evans.  At that point Albus stopped listening to whatever the boy was saying, devoting the whole of his focus to Harrison instead. 

Harrison was not in peak condition.  His lip was split and his right cheek bruised.  The boy sat hunched over his ribs, his hair obscuring his distinctive eyes from Albus.  He didn’t ask what happened, for it was fairly obvious.  Harrison was not the type to allow himself to be taken anywhere without resisting and the Aurors assigned to the school had clearly become a little overzealous in defending Hogwarts.  Albus would have to speak to them later.

“Hello, my boy.  Please excuse the suddenness of my visit, but it was most imperative that I speak to you.  How are you Harrison?”

The boy in the cell lifted his head just enough for one eye peek out between the messy locks of his bangs and see who it was that had disturbed the few minutes of peace he had managed to obtain.  Albus stood before the bars of the dirty cell, his cheerful countenance almost insulting.  Harrison groaned slightly and lowered his head once more.

“Dumbledore,” he snorted.  “I should have known.”

Albus stared pityingly at young Harrison’s form.  His arms were pulled behind his back in what looked like a painful position.  The boy had apparently fought back rather fiercely and thus was now trussed up thoroughly in magic inhibiting bindings.

“Still getting others to do your dirty work for you, old man?”  Harrison asked bitterly.  There was an intense disgust in his expression that Albus didn’t think he had done anything to earn.  Surely the boy wasn’t that unreasonable.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re referring to.”

“Don’t you?  You really think no one noticed that the majority of the Aurors stationed inside Hogwarts were personally requested by yourself?”  Harrison sneered.  “No doubt you picked your favorite Gryffindors.”

Albus did not react beyond raising a single eyebrow.  Of course he had picked the Aurors he knew he could trust.  There were many that would quail in the face of Gellert and his contemporaries; he needed to know that the Aurors that were being tasked with protecting the student body would put the lives of their charges above their own.

And self-sacrifice was an undeniably Gryffindor trait.

“My boy, as I’m sure you’ve heard by now, the Ministry would like to ask you a few questions.”

“No,” he interrupted, “ _you_ would like to ask me a few questions.  But you couldn’t be associated with the kidnapping of an Assistant Professor, so you convinced Diggory to do it for you.”

Albus frowned.  “Kidnapping is not the word I would use, but yes, I would indeed like to speak to you as well.”

“Not a kidnapping?  Well then, I haven’t been charged with anything, so I should be free to go now shouldn’t I, Professor?”

Albus smiled apologetically at Harrison’s challenging tone, attempting to calm the child that was no doubt feeling quite defensive.  The boy was understandably upset, but hopefully he would come to understand the reasons behind his admittedly drastic measures.

“Not quite, my boy.  The Ministry may keep you in holding for a period of up to 60 days—“

“But a person in 'holding' is free to communicate with the outside world,” Harrison smoothly cut in, much to Albus’ annoyance.  “Are you saying you will allow me that right, to tell others of my whereabouts?”

“I’m sorry Harrison, but this is a very special set of circumstances.  Sometimes we must make sacrifices for the greater good.”  Albus smiled apologetically once more, his blue eyes twinkling with a weariness that would have normally drawn sympathy and understanding, but Harrison was unimpressed.

“Why don’t you quit the crap and tell me the real reason I’m here.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you are speaking of my boy,” Albus said rather placidly, but his eyes were steely.  He was not enjoying the way Harrison was directing their conversation.  “Now, I would like you to first tell me about those Lordship’s of yours.  The Dark Lord Grindelwald is a very dangerous man and it is of the utmost importance that we know why he has developed an interest in you.”

There was silence for a few moments, before Harrison hacked out a dry laugh.  The boy huffed and chortled with such merriment that his eyes began to tear up.

“You attacked me without provocation, engineered this… plot to have me arrested, and now you have the audacity to demand information.  Why on _earth_ would I tell you _anything_ , you self-righteous old codger?!”

Harrison spat the words with enough derision to make Albus flinch back in surprise, but he couldn’t let the boy simply get away with those comments.  Harrison Evans needed to understand that some things were more important than the rights of one man.

“Harrison, my boy, you do understand that Grindelwald is set on subduing all of Europe.”  His voice was laced with disappointment.  He sighed, perhaps the boy would be more willing to talk if he gave him a little information.

“I have reason to believe that you will be personally targeted by the Dark Lord Grindelwald.”  There it was.  There was something in young Harrison’s expression, a sort of poorly concealed fearful anticipation.  The boy at least had some idea of why Gellert would be interested, but for whatever reason he seemed intent on hiding it.

“If there is anything you know that could possibly give us an advantage, anything at all, would it not be your responsibility to reveal it.  If not as a British citizen, then certainly as an educator of children—“

“Stop.  Just... stop.” 

For the first time Harrison allowed his clear green eyes to meet Albus’ own pale blue ones.  His face was blank for the most part, but there was a great deal of betrayal mixed with disappointment and world weary resignation.  Albus felt that those emotions had no business being on the face of someone so young.  Before he could get a chance to attempt Legilimency Harrison looked away, his posture exuding dismissiveness.  Albus bristled slightly.

“A necessary evil for the greater good,” he said under his breath.  Had Albus not been straining his ears he would not have heard.

“The road to hell is paved with good intentions Dumbledore, and you’re looking pretty shaky up there on your high horse.”

That was all he said before disengaging from the conversation entirely.

Albus wanted to continue, he wanted to demand answers, to perhaps even knock some sense into the boy.  And he _was_ a boy, just a _child_ , Albus thought.  Harrison hadn’t seen half the things Albus had.  He hadn’t lived through hardships and witnessed the rise of Darkness, wrestled with the temptations that made a man want to simply give up and allow evil its way.

It was irritating, the way the boy thought he could simply make his assumptions and then dismiss him as though Albus had nothing of importance to respond with, daunting as well.

But he would be back.  Harrison could only ignore reason for so long.

*****

Harry ignored Dumbledore as the old man vindictively applied several oppressive layers of magic sealing wards around the area of his cell.  If the small room wasn’t impenetrable before, then it certainly was now.

Even so, he still had a few tricks up his sleeve, or rather, one very sharp trick.  The Aurors make the same mistake Tom had once made in failing to search him for more than just his wand, but even if he removed his bindings, the silver dagger wouldn’t help him escape the cell walls.

He also still had his invisible, extendable pouch, arguably containing the most useful things a person could ever ask for, but as useful as the objects inside were there would be very real and dangerous consequences if he ever relied on their power.  Their presence would remain in his mind as a last resort.

Harry opened his eyes just enough to see that Dumbledore in all his self-righteous glory had finally left.  He hoped the old man choked on his damn sherbet lemons.

… what a childish thought.  He mentally shook his head.  Did Harry really expect anything else?  The future Headmaster had never made a secret of his Machiavellian tendencies.  The only one who hadn’t known how far Dumbledore was willing to go for the sake of the ‘greater good’ was Harry himself.  Snape had practically had to slap him across the face with the knowledge.  Bleeding out and dying on the floor, Severus Snape had been the one to finally open his eyes.

But even knowing Harry still felt the pain, the lingering ache of a wound several years old that hadn’t healed properly and likely never would.  Despite his shortcomings, at one point Albus Dumbledore had been a person he trusted, a man he had thought worth dying for.

‘ _Shameful_.’

He would not allow himself to fall for the old man’s kindly façade again.  Harry had done his part for the wizarding world.  He owed them nothing.  There was no reason for him to allow himself to be used again.  Besides, he had new loyalties now.

Harry’s face twisted into a grimace as he imagined Tom’s inevitable reaction to his absence.  It was certain to be suitably explosive.

Distance wasn’t really a factor in their… connection.  In the future, Voldemort had proven that he could make Harry feel pain even if his emotions came from the other side of the planet.  Knowing Tom's temper, Harry was likely in for several sleepless nights.

The scar…

Harry nearly banged his head on the wall.  He could use the scar to contact Tom the same way the teen had before!

But Dumbledore had gotten him arrested with the Minister’s silent approval, he remembered soberly.  Even with the connection, there was nothing Tom could do to remove him from this glorified prison, short of storming the Ministry.

Harry winced.  Knowing Tom’s tendency to overreact to unexpected events, that was a very real possibility.  At the very least, Harry would have to find a way to contact him soon to prevent any rash actions.  That would mean harnessing every screed of Occlumency skill he possessed, or rather, did not possess.

Well, it wasn’t as though he had anything better to do, and meditating would help him repair some of the balance to his magic.  The effects weren't as bad right now because of the wards around his cell, but Harry knew his magic hated being contained just as much as he did.  That, combined with the amount of effort he had expended calming down Tom and then later fending off a hot-headed group of Aurors had left him with barely any control left. 

It was taking all of his energy and focus not to let his magic go free and tear down the walls holding him, along with the rest of the building.

“Hey, it’s time for lunch.”

A voice interrupted his thoughts.  Harry ignored it.

“Hey, um… ” Harry sluggishly lifted his head, mildly irritated by the persistence of the light voice.  “I’m really sorry about this.”

Harry snorted.  “A lot of good that does me.”

The man frowned, or boy rather.  He looked about the same age as Harry, but he lacked the world weary understanding, the all-encompassing cynicism that Harry had gained after being let down time and time again.

In fact, he looked a lot like Harry did before he stopped and took a proper look at the world, the dilapidated ruins of a once great people who managed to destroy themselves out of sheer bigotry and arrogance.

“I’m serious.”  The boy said, still frowning.  He was likely perturbed by Harry’s lack of a reaction, but the scowl he was attempting ended up looking more like a puppy that just sneezed instead of being any kind of intimidating.  Harry almost laughed.

“That’s good for you.”

It didn’t matter though, because pathetic or not Harry was utterly finished with dealing with his kind.  The _innocent_ ones, the _kids_ that believed whole heartedly in the words of the Ministry right up until the moment they died. 

Harry wouldn’t deal with another one, he wouldn’t scream himself hoarse trying to put some sense into the boy’s head.  The time for that had passed.

“Whatever,” the boy placed the tray of food on the floor in front of his cell.  “My name’s Jimmy.  Me and my partner will be watching you while you’re here, so you might as well get comfortable.”

Harry stared at the boy's retreating back, and then at the slop that was trying to pass itself off as food, but his eyes honed in on the presence of a vial, the light blue color being clearly recognizable as that of a Pain Relief Potion.  


Harry snorted, crossed his legs, and closed his eyes.

*****

One of the chairs exploded.

Tom’s magic simmered around him like a boiling ocean as he leveled the full heat of his red gaze upon the pitifully quivering form of _Maen Prince_.

“Are. You. Sure.”  He asked, rage punctuating every word. 

“Y-yes, my L-lord.  I’m p-positive.” 

Tom didn’t take his word for it, instead he harshly grabbed the boy’s face with one hand and forced their eyes to meet.  He dove into Prince’s mind, uncaring of the migraine he was leaving in his wake, and witnessed the scene himself.  He released his follower’s face with a sneer, his rage increasing tenfold.

“Minerva,” he growled.

Prince was terrified, they all were.  Good.  Perhaps they were beginning to understand that incompetence would not be tolerated.  Maybe now they would be less likely to repeat such a grievous error, to _fail_.

It didn’t matter, for Tom decided in that very moment that once he had Harry back he would never allow the man to leave his side ever again.

“Where is Minerva McGonagall?”  He snapped at Mulciber, his patience having evaporated the moment Prince returned with the information.

“She—she’s a prefect, m-my Lord.  She’ll be doing her rounds.”

“Find her.  Bring her here.  _Do not fail_.”  Mulciber scurried out of the room, closely followed by Avery who had presumably gone to help him.

It was fairly late, most of the Slytherin students were already inside the common room, and Tom suspected that some of them would rather be anywhere else at the current moment, but no one would leave.  This was something everyone needed to witness.

His anger was nearly palpable, a burning heat that scorched his veins, but while his anger may not be physical, his magic most certainly was.  Tom’s magic felt his anger and clouded the entirety of the Slytherin dorms with an inescapable miasma of Darkness.  A quick glance told him that some of the students were on the verge of tears, knowing that the King of Slytherin was incensed but having no clue as to why.

“You and you,” he gestured at some random third years, who snapped to attention immediately.  Tom sneered at the show of respect that would have normally pleased him.  “Your job is to distract Slughorn.  I don’t care how you do it, but that old fool is not to get anywhere near the dorms tonight.  Am I clear?”

“Yes, my Lord,” they muttered, and rushed out to complete their tasks.

Tom settled into his chair, becoming more impatient with each passing moment.  Not only was his magic disturbed by the sudden distance between him and his bonded horcrux, but he was immensely displeased as well.

Dumbledore was behind this.  He knew it.  The Minister didn’t have the guts to pull a stunt like this, not without help.  The old man had _dared_ to take what was his, and Tom would have recompense.

Finally, the painting entrance opened, revealing Minerva McGonagall silently thrashing between her two captors.  Mulciber and Avery each had an arm hooked around one of hers, and apparently they had the sense to cast a Silencing Charm as well, because the Gryffindor did not come quietly.

He remained seated as they dragged the girl before him, placing her neatly between himself and the fireplace, right where everyone could see them.

“Minerva McGonagall,” he said softly, his blood red eyes narrowing as he took in the form of the audacious girl. 

Tom stared dispassionately at the Gryffindor prefect.  She was on her knees, disarmed with her hands bound behind her back.  She glared at him with fear and indignation, tears beginning to well up at the corner of her eyes.

He had never seen something so despicable.

Leaning forward he grasped her chin delicately.  “I’m going to remove the Silencing Charm now.  If you scream, I will burn your hands black and you will never hold a wand again.  You are to do nothing but answer my questions as quickly and honestly as possible.  Am I understood?”

Minerva choked on a sob, tears streaming down her cheeks as she nodded jerkily.

Tom removed the Silencing Charm.

There were several moments when he did not say anything.  Preferring instead to listen to the quiet whimpers and crackling fire.  Eventually Tom lost his patience once more and asked the question he had wanted an answer to since the beginning of this farce.

“Where is Harry?”

Likely sensing his malcontent the girl did not hesitate to answer, but she did gulp in an attempt to bolster her confidence.

“Harrison Evans has been taken into Ministry custody,” she said as evenly as she could.

“Is that so,” Tom spoke softly, _dangerously_.  Those that were in the room could feel the air beginning to crackle under the force of his magic and _the fool continued speaking_.

“For being a danger to the Ministry and the greater good, Harrison Evans will be detained at the Ministry for the foreseeable future.”  The Gryffindor lifted her chin slightly.  Even terrified she managed to make a disgusting amount of self-righteousness shine through her tone.

The Slytherins shifted uncomfortably, caught between the undeniable instinct to flee and their desire to see the outcome of the confrontation.  No matter what happened, they knew there would be rippling consequences that would reach far beyond Hogwarts.

“ _Minnie_ ,” Tom drew out the Gryffindor’s name, almost tauntingly.  He tilted his head to the side and took a deliberate step forwards, his eyes wide and questioning.  Minerva fell backwards as Tom stood, crawling away haplessly as her instincts demanding that she flee.  Whatever courage that allowed her to speak had promptly evaporated under the heat of that gaze.

Tom absently flicked his wand.  The white yew sparked dangerously and seized Minerva before she could move away any further.  She panicked as her body began to rise into the air, her strength gone.

Her feet dangled about half a foot from the ground as she was forced to meet his eyes.  Red, as though all the fires of hell were gathered inside him.  Minerva suddenly found herself unable to breath.

“Ah—ak—“ the only sounds she could make were unintelligible, until finally those too failed her.

“Shhhh,” Tom quieted Minerva’s struggles with one finger.  “Your words mean less than nothing to me, Minnie.  You need not speak for me to _know_.”

It was with no finesse and even less care that Tom tore into her mind.

_“I know you are fond of Mr. Evans—“_

_“It won’t be a problem Professor.”  Albus smiled fondly at his eager student.  He had always been proud of his Gryffindors’ ability to understand the greater good.  This student in particular knew how important it was that Harrison Evans be controlled._

_“I know it won’t dear, but I am curious.  May I ask what changed your mind?”  She bit her lip, visibly hesitating before her reluctance crumbled beneath the soulful gaze of her favorite Professor._

_“It was Halloween he—I saw what happened when he lost control.  It scared me Professor.”_

_“That’s okay my dear.  It is only natural to fear that kind of power.  It isn’t normal and I fear for Mr. Evans as long as he remains under its influence.  You are doing him a kindness Minerva.”_

_The young Minerva McGonagall nodded, fears assuaged and comfortable in the knowledge that she was doing the right thing._

Tom felt the ferocity of his magic roar as it careened through the girl, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.  All he knew was that he wanted this foolish girl to understand just how _wrong_ her actions were, to feel every last _ounce_ of his anger.

His magic responded, constricting the young Gryffindor until her ribs strained.  Tears streamed down Minerva’s face as her mouth continued to gape unattractively and her lungs strained for oxygen.  Tom’s magic did not let up, increasing in force until her very bones began to crack from the strain.

Finally, just as her eyes began to roll back, she was released and collapsed to the floor more terrified than relieved.

Tom kneeled on the ground gracefully and cradled the tear soaked face of Minerva McGonagall as though it were the finest of chinas.

“Minnie,” he crooned, his voice so painfully soft.  “You abused his trust Minnie.  You led him into a trap and allowed him to be captured.”

The Slytherins cringed.  Tom’s anger was terrifying in and of itself, but this was another thing entirely.  It was quiet, soothing, like the smooth scales of a snake as it slowly began to constrict its prey.

“You made a mistake Minnie.  You understand that don’t you?”  The girl frantically nodded her head as much as she could, entranced by the glowing embers of Tom’s eyes.

“Good.  That’s good Minnie.  It’s good that you understand.  Now I have to go and correct your mistake, but when I come back I will punish you properly.  Do you understand Minnie?  Do you understand why you are being punished?”

Minerva gulped, but nodded anyways, not daring to speak when she knew one wrong move would provoke Tom into finishing what he started.

Tom stood abruptly, gesturing to his followers to gather around him.  They moved quickly, knowing Tom’s frayed temper was not to be tested.  Still, sinister as it was, Tom’s magic maintained its alluring aura.  It was like a Siren’s song, sweetly leading sailors to their deaths, but this was their Lord, and they remained forever loyal.

“Minerva McGonagall does not leave this room.  I will return shortly.”  He said softly.

“Where will you be going, my Lord?”  Silvus Lestrange prayed he would not be punished for daring to speak.

But Tom did not seem upset by Silvus’ question.  Instead, he spoke in an even softer voice, his expression almost… eager.

“Dumbledore has made his move.  It’s time I made mine.”

Tom ignored the curious faces of his followers, turned, and left the Slytherin dorms entirely.  He prowled through the deserted night halls of Hogwarts, taking care not to be seen.  He didn’t even bother to light his wand, Tom had no need of light for this journey, he knew the way by heart.

There was a solemn shifting of stone as the entrance opened, and the quiet sounds of leather against the damp ground.  The Chamber of Secrets was open.

~Anassa my dear, there is something I need you to do.~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yup, I do so like my cliffhangers.
> 
> Also, I hope I'm not being to harsh on Minerva, but I've always had a love/hate relationship with her character. On the one hand, she is pretty awesome and protective over the students, but on the other hand she displayed a tendency to defer to Dumbledore's judgement even when she disagreed. Case and point, the very first scene in the first book when she let Dumbledore leave Harry with what she called, 'the worst sort of muggles.' I just never got over the fact that she only took real action when Dumbledore gave the okay, even after he died. Hermione suffered from the same problem, but she grew out of it by the 7th book. Minerva never grew out of it.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, two months later and finally there's a chapter. I'm sorry everyone, things have been rather hectic and to be honest I'm not the most focused person. But again I shall reassure you I will never drop a story. Although, after seeing so many other writers promise the same thing I doubt that promise has much meaning anymore. Nevertheless, I feel its necessary I make the effort.

Abraxas gave the eagle owl perched before him an absentminded pet as he quickly skimmed through the rather sizable letter his father had sent him.  Lucien Malfoy was not wholly unaware of his son’s loyalties, but he did not know the extent to which Abraxas had pledged his allegiance to Tom.

The boy was happy to see that his father had heeded his request for inside information.  He knew his father wouldn’t miss a chance to topple Dumbledore and his budding regime, but Abraxas hadn’t been sure of his own inclusion.  While the Malfoys tended not to coddle their children, there was no doubt that Lucien cared greatly for his son.

He skipped past the pleasantries and sorted through page after page of information for something that could truly impress his Lord.  Abraxas’ position was still in a sort of limbo currently, but that could all change very quickly if he played his cards right, and with Orion out of the proverbial race, he really only had Silvus to compete with for the position of Tom’s right hand.

It was a competition he intended to win.

With a final glance, Abraxas folded the thick sheaf of parchment and tucked it into his robes.  The Owlry was deserted, just as he’d intended, but now it was time to return to his dorms and report his findings.  He was sure Tom would be impressed with what he’d discovered.

The halls were mostly quiet.  It was Friday, classes had ended for the day and even the Ravenclaw students were likely keen on enjoying the beginning of their weekend before swarming the library in an effort to get homework done. 

Abraxas moved quickly, but he did not run.  Malfoys never ran.  His feet glided and his head was held just so, to properly communicate the superiority of his blood and heritage.  Far be it from his to deny the obvious power behind the Malfoy name.

He carefully stepped off the staircase before they could begin moving again, though he tried to make the movement look seamless.  At the bottom of the steps were three nondescript Aurors.  They had taken to staying in groups ever since they had begun being picked off by some unknown assailant.

The petrifications were a source of endless amusement to the Slytherins, especially considering their obvious animosity towards the Ministry dogs.  Though, they would be easier to handle if they were _only_ dogs of the Ministry; no, these were Dumbledore’s pets.

They huddled around each other, speaking in quiet but harsh tones as the tenseness of their shoulders made their fear known. 

Abraxas allowed himself a small smirk as he passed.

“Hey you.”

He didn’t stop.

“You!  The blonde one, stop!”

Abraxas felt his irritation bloom as one of the Aurors had the audacity to grab his shoulder.  This _filth_ obviously did not know its place.

“My name is Abraxas Lucien Malfoy, heir to the most Ancient and Noble House of Malfoy, not ‘ _the blonde one_.’”  He hissed, carefully grabbing the man’s index finger and peeling his hand off of his person.

He saw the Aurors’ faces light up in recognition upon hearing his name.  Good, if they knew what was good for them they would acknowledge that he was their better and be on their way.

Of course, the man that had initially grabbed him turned out to unsurprisingly be the most imbecilic of the trio.

“Is that supposed to mean something?”  He sneered ignorantly.  “We were sent by Minister Diggory himself to weed out any Dark wizard riffraff.  Now what would an upstanding student be doing skulking about the school so late at night?”

Abraxas narrowed his eyes.  He still had at least an hour until curfew and he was far from the only person outside of their dorms.  This pathetic assembly was just another example of Dumbledore’s lackeys running about unchecked.  Before the attacks had started the Aurors had gotten high off of their own authority.  Being picked off one by one may have cowed them somewhat, but it certainly hadn’t improved their intelligence.

No matter, he was hardly one to allow such disrespect to go unpunished.

“That sounds like an accusation.  I most certainly hope there is some evidence behind that wild and unwarranted claim or I might take offense.  I doubt you or your family could afford for you to lose your job during such dangerous times.”

The man’s face had turned progressively more red the longer Abraxas had spoke.  He noticed with some satisfaction that the two others with him managed to find their nerves and grab their friend before he could do something foolish.

Well, something more.

He made a show of straightening out his robes and used his wand to Scourgify whatever filth the mudblood had left behind when he grabbed his shoulder like a savage muggle.

As he began to walk away he heard the man shouting from the uncompromising arms of his friends.

“Just you wait.  All the Dark wizards hiding like rats will get what’s coming to them.”

Abraxas smiled devilishly.

“I’m looking forward to it.”

*****

Silvus watched as Abraxas forced himself not to fidget in the tense silence that had overtaken the room.  Not even a week ago they had watched their Lord literally tear into the mind of Minerva McGonagall.  Never before would he have thought Malfoy would be feeling even the smallest bit of pity for the self-righteous Gryffindor girl, but he saw as the blonde cringed when passing her in the halls.

“Malfoy.”

Lestrange struggled to draw breath.  The anticipation of the meeting was thrilling to a dangerous degree.  Silvus would liken it to provoking a dangerous beast; the proximity alone would bring his adrenaline to new heights, but the exhilaration was divine. 

Abraxas hastily lowered his eyes, now more than ever acutely aware of his Lord’s ability to peel apart a mind at a glance.

“You have something useful to tell me?”

Perhaps it was unsuitable for a Slytherin to be attracted to such danger.  Certainly, he was no fool, let alone a _Gryffindor_.  Yes, he was afraid, and yet he stayed.  The Dark power that swirled about the room, that intoxicating magic that bathed Tom’s form drew him in like a moth to a flame.  Could anyone really expect any less of him?

“Of course, my Lord.  This is not public information, but my father has been making inquiries in the Ministry.  It appears as though Minister Diggory was indeed involved in Dumbledore’s recent action.”

Tom merely raised a brow, likely indicating that the news neither surprised nor impressed him.  Luckily for Abraxas he had more to tell.

“The paperwork regarding the arrest was well buried, however he managed to discover the names of those directly involved with capturing and guarding Evans.”

His breath hitched as he felt the veritable cloud of magic that had been coiling around him dangerously suddenly sweeten into an intoxicating wave.  It took all of Silvus’ years of training as the heir to his family to avoid letting out an unseemly moan of pleasure.  A few of the others were not as lucky.

Abraxas was visibly shaking, whether from fear or pleasure was anyone’s guess.  Though it was clear he could no longer able to maintain his façade of nonchalance.

“Excellent, I assume you have the names with you.”  Tom purred, a pleased smirk stretching across his face.

“Of course,” Abraxas croaked, likely proud of both the praise and the fact that he had managed to speak.

Tom abruptly ceased the drug-like effects of his magic, pulling it back into his person.  It swam about the room excitedly, reflecting his pleased expression.  Having the names of those involved was certainly a boon.  He would probably reward Malfoy later.

Silvus watched the exchange with jealous eyes.  He felt unbearably dissatisfied by Tom’s attention to Malfoy.  Abraxas had been punished mere months ago and already the cunning snake managed to find a way to worm his way back into favor.

It wasn’t his place.  Silvus chastised himself internally, lowering his gaze so his Lord would not see the unsightly emotions hidden behind his eyes.

The Malfoy family was powerful and influential.  Tom undoubtedly valued Abraxas for that reason.  It didn’t matter.  He glared darkly at the blonde, barely managing to stop himself from sneering at his preening. 

Abraxas had his uses, but the position of Tom’s right-hand belonged to him.

*****

“Gillyweed,” Tom spoke the password to the gargoyle dismissively.  He had neither the time nor the interest in dwelling on the Headmaster’s choice of password.

If he was being absolutely honest with himself, Tom was feeling an absurd amount of impatience as he forced himself to sedately walk up the stairs to his destination.  As much as he hated to admit it, he didn’t know the reason for this.  He had surely been… shocked by Harry’s sudden absence, but that didn’t explain his restless emotions, the near anxiety that threatened to cripple his control.

Very plainly, Harry was his horcrux, a precious piece of his soul, but Tom had survived his whole life without the man’s presence.  There was no reason for his pathetic lapses as of late.

Regardless, there were many parts to his plan that needed to be in place before he took action, and Tom, while tense and discomforted by Harry’s absence, could not afford to make a mistake at this point

“Professor Dippet, may I speak with you?”  The words were phrased like a question, but Tom had already entered the room, anticipating the inevitable response.

“Yes, of course Tom.  Come in, come in.”

Tom sat on one of the chairs in front of the Headmaster’s desk.  His body language was casual, for the most part, but there was an unmistakable seriousness to his posture, as though Tom was the superior, and he was deigning to speak with poor old Dippet.

It might as well have been that way.

“Headmaster Dippet, on behalf of myself and the students I felt I should bring to your attention the disappearance of Mr. Evans.”

There it was, the old man’s immediate reaction was to flinch and grimace heavily.  Harry’s absence had not gone unnoticed, by the students or staff.  Unfortunately, Dumbledore had taken to _distracting_ everyone as best as he could with anything from casual dismissals to outright lies.

“Yes, yes, I’ve already spoken to Professor Dumbledore about it.  Terribly inconvenient to have family troubles this late in the school year, but we will have to make due in Harrison’s absence.”

Tom bit his tongue to prevent himself from speak out.  ‘ _Family troubles_ ,’ he internally scoffed, but he would be lying if he said he hadn’t expected something of this nature.  As inconvenient as it was that Dumbledore was clearly capable of quickly and efficiently covering his tracks, it simply made it all the easier for Tom to pull the rug from beneath his wrinkled old arse.

Tom put on his most sincere face, the one he’d been using to bend adults to his will for over a decade.  Dippet didn’t stand a chance.

“Professor, the students and I are concerned.  Mr. Evans had been heavily involved in the student life at Hogwarts and his sudden and unannounced leave has raised more than a few eyebrows.  We have, of course, attempted to contact him, to no avail, which frankly has only increased our suspicions.”

“I know it was unexpected Tom, but family issues rarely are—“

“It occurs to me,” he interrupted impatiently.  “That the only person who claims to have been personally informed of Mr. Evans’ sudden decision to leave was Professor Dumbledore.  Strange, seeing as Mr. Evans and Professor Dumbledore were never particularly close.”

“It was a matter of convenience, I’m afraid.”  Dumbledore’s wizened voice spoke from somewhere behind him.

Tom felt himself tense unnoticeably at the suddenness of his appearance.  He had hoped he would have a few more minutes alone with Dippet, but he would have to make do.

“Oh?”

“Yes, in fact I believe young Harrison mentioned something about those mysterious Lordships of his.”  Dumbledore trailed of suggestively.

Tom smiled stiffly, his temper beginning to simmer beneath the surface of his skin.  Dumbledore irritated him on the best of days, but being so far away from his horcrux was not helping the issue of his control.

The bigger issue was the old man’s insistence on sweeping the entire incident under the rug.  Dumbledore had to have gone quite far over the line if he was this desperate to keep his involvement hidden.  Tom hid a smirk.

“Be that as it may, the sudden attacks on several of the Aurors stationed within the school suggests that there was something more to Harrison Evans’ sudden disappearance.”

“That’s quite a stretch Tom.”

“Is it?  I and many others find the timing suspicious.  What would you suggest to be the cause of these recent events, Professor?”

Dumbledore visibly suppressed his expression into a blank mask.  Dippet may not have noticed the change, but Tom did.  Even if the old man suspected Tom was responsible for the attacks, he had no proof, and the Slytherins would defend him until their last breath.

Dumbledore may have once had the support of Gryffindor students, but he had underestimated Harry’s popularity.  Once Tom had _dealt_ with Minerva and promised to return their wayward assistant the lions had become putty in his hands.  With several of Dumbledore’s favorite Aurors out of the way as well, the old man’s support base was swiftly crumbling beneath him.

It wasn’t enough though.  Tom wanted to take him apart brick by brick, to destroy everything Albus Dumbledore had ever built.  In the end, he would have his Harry back, and the old man would be left with _nothing_.

“Headmaster, Mr. Evans’ skill in Defense was already quite well known.  Even if the Prophet didn’t publish the full story, Grindelwald’s attack was enough to give Mr. Evans a great deal of renown.  I believe whomever is currently orchestrating these attacks on the Aurors is doing so with the intention of crippling Hogwarts’ defenses.  Following that line of logic it only makes sense that Harry was one of the first targets.  We should be devoting our time to discovering his location!”

Tom nearly winced as he finished speaking.  Dippet hadn’t noticed anything, but Dumbledore had honed in on his casual address of the absent Assistant. 

He hated that he was slipping.  Tom could put on a strong front and inwardly know that his magic would stay as powerful as always, but Harry’s kidnapping was only emphasizing the amount that Tom had come to rely on the man. 

There was an agitated energy coiling inside his chest.  He nearly felt compelled to stand and begin pacing the room, as though he were a mere bundle of nerves and anxiety.

He had less control, he was more emotional, and he was making _foolish mistakes_.

His hand clenched behind his back as his face remained perfectly composed.  This was not a game he could afford to lose.

“Tom, I am aware of Harrison’s popularity here, you are far from the first student to inquire as to his whereabouts, but we simply haven’t the staff to organize our own search.” 

Dippet spoke in a variation of that kindly tone that made Tom’s blood boil.  It was that condescending voice that said ‘I am an adult and I know best, but I’m going to try and explain the situation in a way you’ll understand to make you feel better.’  Dumbledore was particularly fond of this way of address, but no matter Dippet or Dumbledore the very sound grated on his ears.

“However,” Tom’s eyes flicked over to the old Headmaster as Dippet continued unexpectedly.  “In light of recent events we would be remiss if we did not even make inquiries into the location of our dear Assistant.  While we cannot afford to lose any staff, I’m sure we can spare a prefect or two.”

Tom felt his magic soar in victory.  Dumbledore looked as though he had just taken a bite out of a particularly bitter sherbet lemon, but Tom hardly noticed him.

He had gotten what he came for.

“That’s all I ask, Headmaster.”  His smile sharpened and his eyes burned in anticipation.

*****

“Checkmate.”

Harry proudly declared his victory over his guard.  James “call me Jimmy” Campbell was a freshly graduated, wide-eyed muggleborn youth.  Desperately naïve, but charming in his own way.  Harry had tried to ignore the boy for the first few days before finally giving in to his own boredom and Jimmy’s puppy-like persistence.

“Aw, I’m rubbish at chess!”

‘ _So am I,_ ’ Harry thought.  Even after years of playing the game he had barely improved at all.  The truth of the matter was that Jimmy somehow managed to be even _worse_ at the game than Harry ever was. 

He wasn’t sure if he should be impressed.

Even now as Jimmy clutched his face despairingly Harry could see the childish pout of his lips.  The boy barely looked like had left his teens.  If Harry passed him on the streets he would be hard pressed to say whether or not the kid had graduated, let alone become an Auror.

Which wasn’t to say the boy was irresponsible.  If anything, Jimmy took his job as Harry’s guard far more seriously than anyone else would.  Everyone else seemed to consider the matter closed once Dumbledore added his own magic into the mix.  It spoke of a severe overreliance on the old man within the Auror department, and that included Jimmy’s own partner.

Harry had only seen the man a few times during his unwilling stay, but he hadn’t exactly gotten along with the sourfaced man.

Jimmy had told him in quick and excited tones that his partner’s name was Michael Corner, a former Ravenclaw, though he admitted to never talking before their assignment together a few months ago.

Harry had to resist the urge to scowl at that piece of information.  In his time, Auror partnerships prioritized trust over all else.  If an Auror couldn’t trust their partner then there was no point in putting them together.  Apparently, Goyle or whoever was currently Head Auror, didn’t think it was important for Aurors to have even a passing familiarity with their partners.

It was no wonder they were losing.

“Harrison?”

Harry snapped back to attention at the inquisitive tone of his watcher.  His brows were furrowed in confusion.

“You just zoned out for a bit there?  Are you okay?  Do I need to call a Healer or—“

“No.”  He said abruptly, suddenly far more tired than he had been mere moments ago.  “No, I’m fine.”  He smiled in what he hoped was a convincing manner.  Luckily, Jimmy didn’t think too deeply on the matter.

“So, you wanna play again?  I think I could actually beat you this time.”

Harry smiled more genuinely this time, but also more melancholically. 

“I’m actually feeling a bit tired, Jimmy.  I think I’ll turn in for the night.”

The boy nodded, a little disappointed, but understanding nonetheless.  He gathered up the playing pieces and walked away from the cell bars, not bothering to say goodbye.  There wouldn’t be much point, anyways.  They both knew he would be just a few meters away, watching even as Harry slept.

The very idea made him squirm.  Harry felt his magic grow restless once more.

Meditation clearly wasn’t helping him calm himself, but at this point he really didn’t have any other ideas.  If he didn’t find a way to release some of his magic very soon…

Harry didn’t want to think about what might happen.  Using too little magic was just as dangerous as using too much magic, and being locked in a box quite frankly wasn’t helping the issue.

Taking a calming breath, Harry tried to still his shaking hands as he leaned against the wall and closed his eyes.

Focus, he thought.  He had to focus on his magic.  Concentrate on keeping it contained. 

_‘Tame it!  Don’t let it control you!’_

Harry turned his thoughts inwards, feeling the gentle pull of his consciousness give way to the violent tide of his magical core.  The tempestuous power at the very center of himself roared and bucked against his restraints.  Harry did his best to calm the storm, soothing and gentling it as much as he could.

There were primal emotions within the magic.  So base and natural that they probably articulated Harry’s true emotions better than he ever could.  Fiery rage at being trapped within the Ministry, a chilling sadness at the familiarity of the situation, and finally there was a longing.

A painful, deep longing.

Without thinking, Harry found himself following this emotion, focusing on the part of himself that expressed it the most.  He felt along the path within his mind, trailing his way farther and farther into the depths of his soul until he encountered an impenetrable Darkness.

Harry shrugged off the hazy filter that was making it hard to think, reached out, and fell headfirst into a Darkness that was oh-so familiar.

Feeling around his surroundings Harry knew almost instinctively where he was, and he found himself speaking the name with quiet hesitance and the utmost trepidation.

_“Tom?”_

_“…”_

_“…”_

_“… Harry?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you think? Comments? Suggestions? Predictions?


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I liiiiiive! I am so sorry for the long absence, but I barely made it through exam week alive. 
> 
> Anyways, this chapter was originally supposed to contain three scenes, but then Tom took over and the first scene ended up being the length of a full chapter. In other words, this chapter contains only one scene, but a lot happens. Including another weak attempt at writing lemon.
> 
> Please enjoy!

Tom felt himself quickly transition through several different emotions.

At first he felt shock, then disbelief, which quickly gave way to confusion, understanding, and finally desire.

Such desire.

“Figures after trying for days I’d end up doing it by accident.”

Tom drank in the sound of Harry’s voice, the sight of his lithe figure as he thoughtlessly ran an anxious hand through his untamable locks of hair drove Tom’s desire to new heights. Every second more spent in his presence was utterly enrapturing, as though an essential artifact had been missing from his life only to suddenly reappear. Tom could not even bring himself to properly respond to whatever inquiries the man was currently making, such was the magnitude of his thirst.

There was one thing he knew for with certainty, Harry would not be allowed to leave.

Taking advantage of the other man’s muddled state of mind, Tom crossed the distance between the two of them in three strides and gripped Harry’s torso fiercely, digging his teeth into the flesh of delightfully soft neck in an effort to ground himself and his spiraling emotions.

Harry let out a sound of exclamation, one which Tom ignored entirely. Instead he wrested control of the blank mindscape Harry had inadvertently created and transformed it to suit his own needs.

There was now a bed behind them. Lavish drapes and finery of shimmering green so dark it appeared black in the low light. Most notably was the fact that the room had no door. There were no windows or exits of any kind. This was a place Tom had made specifically to contain his ever so flighty horcrux.

Harry seemed to regain his wits at this point and began to actively fight Tom. It was such a shame, Tom thought, Harry’s anger fueled magic would have been a wondrous sight had they been in the real world, but here Tom had control. Here, Harry had only his admittedly quite skilled body to fight with.

And they did fight. Tom dug his fingernails into the man’s hips and pressed the advantage of his height over the other, trying to force him onto the silken sheets of the bed, force him to accept his place in Tom’s arms and never dare to leave them again. At the same time he licked his bloodied lips lasciviously and allowed the glamor on his face to leech away, revealing a similar color within his eyes. 

Harry, meanwhile, growled and snapped at him in irritation once he realized that Tom had many advantages within the situation. This did not discourage him, if anything it spurred the man further. Harry nailed Tom with several blows, his eyes glowing an eerie green within the darkness of the candle lit room.

Tom soon became impatient and sought to choke out the last of Harry’s resistance with his overwhelming and greedy magic. Unlike Harry, Tom most certainly had his magic at his beck and call, and like hundreds of snakes it coiled around the man, tightening dangerously in an attempt to assert dominance.

Tom exhaled. The single very calm breath rang out in the silence of the room. The moment was precious to Tom, the sight of Harry beneath him, pale skin contrasting so beautifully with the sheets, and most importantly _at his mercy_.

He would remember this moment for all eternity.

But Tom was not one to lose himself to sentimentality, and his desire had swiftly reached new levels when confronted with the delicious sight before him. Like the apex predator he knew himself to be, Tom prowled across the sheets, lowering his head to breath in Harry’s scent, to imprint the memory into his mind.

“What now then?”

For a brief second, Tom almost wanted to be angry at Harry for interrupting him, for disturbing the tableau that had been created, but he could see the rage building in the other man’s eyes and it forced him to sober slightly.

“Now, I show you how much you have been missed,” he answered.

Tom pressed his lips against the soft curve of his horcrux’s mouth, persistently sliding his tongue across the tightly pressed cupid’s bow. Not once did he break eye contact, though he could feel Harry’s constant struggles against the might of his magic. 

That wouldn’t do, he thought. 

“Give in,” Tom said somewhat pleadingly, fully cognizant of his crumbling façade as well as the full impact of Harry’s disappearance. It weighed on him, even now, in this dream. Thus, he felt a not so absurd desire for stability, consistency within Harry and his stubbornly unchangeable nature.

“Last time you were going through your inheritance. You were not in control. What’s your excuse this time, Tom? You are behaving like an animal.”

Tom hissed in displeasure at the cutting tone of Harry’s remark. The man was using Tom’s pride against him, forcing him to confront the irrationality of his behavior.

But what Harry failed to realize was that this went beyond a simple want. This was a _need_. Tom needed more than anything to show Harry the extent of their connection, the hell he had endured during his weeks of absence.

And most importantly, Tom needed Harry to admit he felt the same. Their souls were not complete without the other. This was a simple fact.

But perhaps he was going about it the wrong way. Forcing Harry would accomplish nothing, for the man would simply continue to fight until his dying breath. No, if he wanted Harry’s submission, it would have to be given willingly. Tom was well versed in the language of seduction. It was time he used some of his Slytherin talents.

~Why do you fight me?~ He lowered his voice, enjoying the instinctive shiver that ran through the body beneath him at the sound. Tom pressed his lips delicately against Harry’s ear, whispering the sweet words directly into his mind.

~You fight when there is no reason to fight, struggle when there is nothing to struggle against. You are simply going through the motions Harry, and I can feel the weight of your exhaustion.~

Harry narrowed his eyes, but did not move otherwise. ~You know nothing,~ he snarled.

~I know enough.~

Gently, and ever so slowly, he snuck one hand beneath the fabric of Harry’s shirt, allowing his cool fingertips to brush against the surface teasingly. Very soon Harry began to relax, losing himself to the cyclical rhythm of Tom’s skilled fingers on his hip.

He could see the man’s boneless fatigue, the new lines marring his expression. Harry had endured much during his absence, and far be it from Tom to leave that struggle unacknowledged. They had both been through enough, and soon someone would pay for the trespass, but in the meantime, Harry needed to learn to accept his own desires.

~For once in your life, allow someone else to take care of you. Allow me to accept some of the burden. Trusssst me.~ The words left his mouth with a soothing sibilance. 

Harry’s eyes darkened in response. Tom smirked as he felt the more obvious sign of Harry’s arousal through the fabric of his robes. The man stared at Tom’s smug expression unerringly, unwilling to submit even now.

~Clever, but can you back it up?~

This time Tom frowned. He had been issued a challenge, and by the looks of Harry’s utterly serious expression he would be a fool to reject it.

He smirked dangerously. 

~Very well.~

Lifting his mouth away from Harry’s neck, Tom smoothly made his way down the man’s body and left a trail of possessive nips and kisses in his wake. As he descended it soon became obvious just where Tom’s intended destination was.

For the first time, Harry began to feel nervous.

“Tom, what are you—“

“Shhhh.”

Any further protests were silenced by the sudden sensation of being enveloped. The wet, encompassing heat on his manhood quite literally left Harry breathless.

Tom continued to push Harry to very edge of his control by allowing his tongue to dip into the slit and suckle the sensitive tip. He was aware of Harry’s struggles, the man’s desperate attempt to maintain some semblance of dignity in this position, but it was unnecessary. They had no need for boundaries. Harry was his, and Tom wanted to see _all_ of him.

“Ah!”

The cry brought out a hum of pleasure from Tom, eliciting an even greater number of delightful sounds. 

When Harry was just about finished, mere seconds from completion, Tom devilishly lifted his mouth away and firmly gripped the base, preventing his release.

“Tom!” Harry yelled in half panic, inwardly wondering if Tom would be cruel enough to leave him like this.

But there was no reason for his worry. With just a thought, Harry found the remains of his clothes disappearing. Tom quickly prepared Harry using a combination of his fingers and magic. He purposefully avoided the other man’s prostate in what Harry suspected to be some sadistic wish to drive him to insanity.

With little fanfare, Tom pushed in the head of his erection in one smooth motion, in another he was fully sheathed. His own desire crippled his patience, but Tom managed to hold himself still once inside, content to savor the essence of the moment while still denying Harry the release he craved.

Harry began moving beneath him, a stubborn determination upon his face. He hardly looked as though he was in a position of vulnerability, but Tom recognized the reality. This was as close to true submission as he would ever receive from the man, and he intended to make it last.

“Ah!”

Harry cried out once more, back arching in pleasure as Tom pulled back and slowly reentered. It was agonizing for both parties, but Tom at least enjoyed drawing out the experience, using every ounce of his self-control to make the moment seem like an eternity.

“Tom—finish this damn you!”

The young Dark Lord smirked devilishly as he heard Harry’s final warning. He would comply in this instance, if only because he desired release as well. With near gentle strokes Tom brought Harry to completion and followed soon after, spilling himself inside to satisfy some amount of his insatiable possessive urges.

For once, neither passed out. They remained all too conscious and fully aware of what just occurred. Dream or otherwise, neither Harry nor Tom could deny their own willingness to participate, their individual hungers.

This was not something that could be dismissed as actions under the influence of some other force. Neither of them were that weak.

The passing moment Tom was so desperate to hold on to finally slipped away, and all that was left was a stark realization.

_Mine_

Tom came to terms with this thought more easily than he would have assumed. It wasn’t necessarily new, but the context was different, the circumstances behind the declaration. It mattered not, for he maintained the satisfaction of knowing that Harry likely knew his thoughts and perhaps even entertained similar ones.

It gave him new confidence.

“Impressed?”

Harry stared at him unblinkingly for a time, before finally succumbing to the humor of the situation.

“You’re a bastard, you know that right?” He snorted at Tom’s smug grin, which only widened in the face of Harry’s irritation. “You ever pull that again and I’ll take matters into my own hands. Literally.”

Tom accepted both the warning and the challenge. It was typical of the older man to bluster his way through embarrassment, but Tom was not so naïve anymore, and he knew Harry better than he thought.

“Of course,” he purred. “I will be sure to make your pleasure my first priority.”

The disgruntled expression of the other made Tom laugh aloud and he finally collapsed onto the dark sheets with one arm thrown around Harry’s waist to keep him close. His body exhausted, though undeniably satisfied.

Tom glanced over at Harry in his reverie, noticing the man seemed to be unconsciously reaching around for something. Curiously releasing his control over the dream slightly, he watched as Harry materialized a cigarette in his hand and began smoking it without much thought.

For many minutes Tom merely lied there, watching as Harry slowly worked his way through the cigarette, idly tracing the areas on Harry’s body where he knew there were glamours. He would never understand the habit of those who smoked, but even he would admit to a certain level of contentedness in just watching the gray wisps leave Harry’s bruised lips and disappear in the air above.

The situation felt so natural that Tom began to question its authenticity. In merely being with Harry, Tom felt more relaxed than ever before. Calm, sated…

At peace.

His emotions roiled in confusion, muted, but complex all the same. He could not come up with any sort of rational reason for rejecting this pleasure he felt. It was only natural that he felt this way with his horcrux, he argued, this was the sensation of being whole.

But it was farce, he reminded himself.

Tom was currently in his bed in the Slytherin dorms and Harry was miles away, locked in some Merlin forsaken basement beneath the Ministry.

They had taken Harry from him, and Tom could not allow himself to forget this fact.

“Where are you Harry?” He asked suddenly. The man gave him no sign of hearing the question, but instead blew out another languid puff of smoke before deigning to answer.

“The Ministry. Though, I suspect you already knew that.”

“Indeed, but I was hoping you would have more details.”

“Hmm.”

Tom gritted his teeth at Harry’s nonchalant attitude. What had happened, had happened, but that was no reason for the man’s complacence. It was as though he didn’t care about escaping confinement.

“How are they keeping you imprisoned?” Tom questioned, suddenly suspicious. “You are capable of overpowering the Hogwarts wards. With enough time and determination even Dumbledore could not keep you confined.”

Harry said nothing, but Tom watched with narrowed eyes as the man’s hand tensed around the cradled cigarette. 

“You have more important things to worry about Tom. I suspect Dumbledore is planning to use the Aurors to hold his own legalized purge of Hogwarts. There’s a good chance he’ll give them permission to enter the dormitories soon. Me being where I am is not the main issue.”

“That does not change the fact that something needs to be done. My pride is not the only reason to remove you from that prison.” Tom spat out the last words, because that is what it was. Dumbledore could preach all he wanted about only wanting to protect Harry, or gain his cooperation for the greater good, but Harry was not free to leave. Pure and simple.

He noticed that Harry did not react to the statement the way he expected, namely, protesting the need to be rescued and assuring Tom of his safety and capabilities.

Harry said none of these things.

“You can escape on your own,” he breathed, barely acknowledging the boiling rage as it answered his call as eagerly as a well-disciplined pet.

Harry looked away instead of answering. That was confirmation enough.

_“Why haven’t you?_ ” He asked, now truly angry.

He had hoped to convey the effects of Harry’s absence directly on the man with their previous act, apparently the other man did not feel the same way, or at least not to the same degree as Tom. If that wasn’t the case, then there would be no way Harry would willingly remain in captivity, not when he had a means of escaping.

And yet he did. As though the fact of their separation hadn’t even occurred to him. Harry was tired yes, exhausted even. The thinned and haggard appearance of his dream self was an obvious reflection of his time in that prison, but even this was not enough.

Did he want to leave that much? Was Tom so overbearing Harry was willing to be imprisoned to be rid of him?

Tom had never thought such self-depreciating thoughts before. None but Harry could make him feel to uncertain, but he could not help but question who truly deserved his anger.

Harry or himself?

“Stop,” Harry sighed and put out the cigarette somewhere, his expression downturned and suddenly guilty. “I know what you're thinking, and it’s not like that.”

“What is it then? What is it that you find so unpleasant that you would rather be in prison than suffer through it.” Tom snarled. The hand that had tracing over a spot on Harry’s abdomen curled painfully, digging stark red marks on Harry’s pale skin.

Harry didn’t react beyond the rolling of his eyes.

“It’s not that simple. Yes, I can escape, but it wouldn’t be without cost. Think for a moment Tom, what happened the last time I saw you?

Tom for his part did consider this line of thought, recalling the occasion when Harry and he had inadvertently met in the Room of Requirement. Harry had been training, likely using it as an excuse to exercise some of the restlessness from his limbs, and Tom had been _drowning._

It galled him to even consider that he had lost control, but he had. Drowning was an apt term for the way his magic had been. If Harry hadn’t been there to work him through it, to draw his magic out steadily then something much worse would have almost certainly occurred.

Their magic had roiled around them, a raging tempest within the heart of the school. Tom’s had flown about savagely, but Harry’s had remained oddly repressed. Tom had originally assumed this to be the man resisting the resonating of their magics, but Harry was implying that there was something more to the occurrence.

“There are two means by which I could escape. Both have consequences, and neither will be used unless the situation worsens beyond the point of repair.”

Tom narrowed his eyes. That was far from enough information, and Harry knew it. The man scowled and continued once he realized Tom would not be satisfied with a bare minimum.

“Do you have any idea how difficult it is to hold back?” Harry didn’t wait for Tom to answer. “Of course you don’t. You’ve barely just learned how to tap into your magic properly.

“Alright Tom, listen and listen well. Magic is meant to be used. Even the average wizard will get uncomfortable if they go too long without using their magic. In our case it’s a little more complicated. Because our magic is semi-sentient it tends to be more… eager. So when you came tossing around your magic like a child throwing a tantrum, it just about took everything I had to not meet you with the same amount of force, because you can be sure there would be nothing left of you if I had.”

Tom processed the information quickly and fired back a question. “Are you saying that your magic is stronger than mine?”

“No,” Harry bit out, “but you weren’t exactly using your magic to its fullest ability. I’ve been controlling my magic for years, Tom, and as you’ve probably figured out by now, the state of your body and mind have a pretty significant effect on your magic.”

Tom had indeed figured out that little fact. He had likened the effects of excessive magic to that of Felix Felicis; there was an incredible boost in raw power, but also a dangerous overconfidence which soon overwhelmed the mind. If what Harry was saying was true, then the reason Occlumency had little success was because Tom hadn’t been taking all three elements into account. Mind, body, and magic was a difficult balance to maintain, and Occlumency alone wouldn’t have worked. So far it was only Harry’s ‘reset’ that had any effect in reestablishing the balance. Tom hoped that eventually his magic wouldn’t require as much maintenance, and that the balance would become muscle memory at that point.

“Holding back my magic when all it wanted to do was go all out was exhausting both mentally and physically,” Harry said suddenly. “And now I am in chains, underneath magic suppressing wards. Mediation helps—somewhat. I’ve never been very good at it, and I’d much rather be _using_ my magic. I’m sure you can guess what sort of state I’m in now.”

Tom could, and it wasn’t good.

He clenched his fists, uncomfortable with the fact that Harry’s capture was at least partially his fault.

“I will not apologize.” He said finally.

Harry snorted. “I never expected you to. You forget Tom, I know you. I’ve known you my whole life. There is nothing you can do to hurt me.”

Tom analyzed the statement and quickly came to the conclusion that it was a lie. Of course he could hurt Harry. If the small hints of past betrayals were any clue, Tom was likely the _only_ person that could still hurt Harry. 

He held a great deal of power over the man, whether Harry admitted it or not. That kind of power could be intoxicating, especially to one such as Tom, but instead he found himself taking great care not to abuse it. Harry was to be soothed, savored, gentled into letting down his walls.

This was merely a small victory. Harry still held a great deal of secrets, and Tom was determined to find them all.

“Using your magic without properly restoring balance to the extent necessary to break through several wards will result in a loss of control.” Tom concluded quietly, but there was one more issue he wanted to make clear.

“How much will it take for you to risk losing control?”

Harry’s face twisted into a scowl. For a moment, Tom felt an ounce of apprehension within him. The man was normally so composed, the few times he had been angry had been both obvious and fleeting.

This time Tom had no idea what the source of the man’s displeasure was. His statement had not been so terribly provocative as to create this response, so it must have something to do with the man’s shrouded past.

Again, Tom experienced a pang of envy for the life Harry had lived before arriving in the past, the life Tom knew almost nothing of. It was a useless emotion, this was something he learned from his time at the orphanage. There was no point in desiring what was not yours, the best option was to take it.

And take it he would.

Tom smoothly slid his hand across Harry’s abdomen until it was resting on the other side of the man’s head. In the same motion he straddled the stubborn man, pressing the full length of this body against the other. This was not a rough action, nor was it a particularly fast one. Tom knew with clarity that Harry could have stopped him fairly easily.

But he did not. And that more than anything aroused him.

“Sooner or later you will have to choose between the lives of those peons keeping you behind bars and your own.” Tom whispered harshly. The stirring of his loins did not entirely distract him from his irritation, but it was close.

“Why Tom? Feeling unconfident?” Harry challenged with a smirk.

Tom growled and nipped the man’s chin, his desire returning with full force. He ground his hardening member against Harry’s own, darkened red eyes burning with longing.

Only for Harry to disappear from beneath him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I can't believe I actually managed to finish this. That chapter was an emotional rollercoaster. There is a _lot_ going on inside Tom's head.
> 
> Questions? Comments? Concerns? I'm open to everything.
> 
> Tell me what you think of the pacing. I feel like its slowing down, but I'm not sure if that's good. Faster? Slower? Tell me what's what!


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter! I had some great comments this time. Thanks for the enthusiasm. If anyone is curious, Snapelust asked a question concerning Dumbledore and Diggory's plan to have Harry secretly arrested. I wrote a way too long response, but if you're curious feel free to check it out.
> 
> Now on to the show!

“Hey, wake up!”

Harry’s mind slammed back into conscious awareness with all the delicacy of a derailing freight train. His head pounded in protest as he forced his eyes open through the pain of several bruises and aches marring his body.

Most notable was the bloodied bite mark on his shoulder. He didn’t think the wound had followed him into the world of waking, but the pain surely did.

Gritting his teeth, he sent a dark glare in the direction of the voice that had been audacious enough to wake him so unceremoniously. 

“What.”

The man who he vaguely recognized as Jimmy’s partner sneered in the harsh lighting. Harry recalled that his name was Michael Corner, but he was unable to reconcile this pinched faced Ravenclaw with the boy he knew in school. A relative maybe? But the differences were too numerous to count.

“It’s time for breakfast, scum.”

Harry remained unimpressed even as a tray of bland looking foods was kicked towards him through the lower gap in the bars. If this Auror was trying to intimidate him, he picked _exactly_ the wrong time.

Though bound, his magic sparked against his skin like a live wire. He had long since burned through the runes on the magic-sealing cuffs on each wrist without even meaning to. His magic pulsed outwards in waves, eating away at any foreign magic like a swarm of locust, uncaring and ever _hungry_.

Harry closed his eyes, forced himself to exhale shakily, and went about calming both himself and his magic. He didn’t want to admit it—Merlin, Harry didn’t even want to _acknowledge_ it—but he could feel the Hallows, eagerly throbbing, safely tucked away in the moleskin pouch Hagrid had given him once upon a time. 

The charms that made it undetectable were thankfully still working, but its mere presence was a constant temptation Harry battled with. As much as he currently disliked the man before him, Harry still didn’t want to atomize him, or anyone else for that matter.

_‘A last resort,’_ he told himself firmly.

Harry sighed. He wanted a drink. Some firewhiskey would do him wonders right now. It always helped dull the emotions somewhat, or at least, Harry liked to pretend it did.

With another tired shake of his head, Harry finally began eating his meal before his short temper could convince him otherwise. It was a lump of jam between two limp pieces of white bread, topped off with an apple just before its expiration date. He was rarely given anything fancier than that, which was probably for the best, because they never trusted him with utensils of any kind. Harry wondered how his treatment compared to that of Azkaban.

“Where’s Jimmy?” He asked, suddenly curious. It was usually him that served him his meals, and the boy would babble right through the whole thing, somehow managing to distract him from the sad taste of the meal he was eating.

In fact, Harry rarely ever saw Jimmy’s partner, the snarling, sneering Michael Corner.

“I don’t know, and that’s none of your business anyway.”

The terse response wasn’t unexpected, but it was nonetheless annoying. For one, Harry still didn’t trust Corner. The man reminded him too much of some of the bigots he had met during his time.

Besides that, Corner, for all his bigotry, seemed to be avoiding Dumbledore. Harry could practically time the old man’s arrival by when the Auror decided to make himself scarce. Then, of course, Harry would have to deal with Jimmy sulking about his partner skiving off _again_ , and leaving the young man alone to stutter through another meeting with his former Professor.

It was all very _annoying_.

With a huff, Harry set aside the tray and pulled his knees to his chest. Lowering his head, he attempted to sooth the aching by massaging his temples. Unfortunately, there was nothing he could do to be rid of the itch beneath his skin.

He hated it. The small cell surrounded him, old brick and stone the only thing between him and the outside world. Harry hated these walls, the bars that mocked him, the despicable wards that prevented his escape. They were a joke! Pathetic things, did anyone truly believe they could hold him here with mere steel and stone?

Harry’s magic churned, fueling the onslaught of emotions, filling every corner of the small cell until Harry practically choked on the power.

“Hey! What are you doing?”

The sheer foolishness of those who tried to contain him. They would pay. He would put them in their place. It was his right—

“Stop that! What are you—” 

Harry was snapped out of his haze by sudden silence and the distinct and all too familiar smell of burning flesh.

Corner had made the mistake of touching the bars. For what reason, Harry could not know, but the result was three blackened fingers and a nearly paralyzed right hand. Corner stared at the misshapen flesh dumbly, seemingly in shock as his mouth opened and closed like a slapped mackerel.

“Fuck,” he groaned quietly, half exhausted and half just unwilling to deal with the inevitable fallout. Eventually, Corner did indeed scream, but by that point Harry had rolled over and lied on his side facing the wall, tuning out hysterical curses and profanities as Corner’s anger finally started to kick in.

He winced as the phantom pain on his neck flared. He had no idea why Tom had begun displaying the tendencies of a newborn vampire, but it was irritating to say the least. At some point, he would have to make it known that he wouldn’t just lie there and allow his flesh to be savaged by insatiable lust.

But for now, he would sleep, the days having been uncharacteristically eventful since he had been dragged into this damned cage. 

*****

“Have you read the Prophet?”

Tom was only half aware of the conversation taking place before him, but the mention of the newspaper brought his sharp focus onto Orion as he fumed with indignation in the midst of his colleagues.

“More arrests, and still not a scrap of evidence! Now Diggory has the arrogance to arrest a member of the Black family!” Orion half screamed, his eyes gaining a crazed look as he finally became discontent enough to stand and start pacing.

It was truly a testament to the Black family madness that even the most lackadaisical of their members was still prone to the occasional bout of psychosis on account of issues of blood.

Despite this unlikely passion in one of his Knights, Tom was not feeling even an ounce of amusement. The matter was indeed getting out of hand, but what irked him was the fact that he had so few means available for countering the present threat.

For once the Prophet had not embellished any facts, for the truth was outlandish enough to begin with. What was so astonishing was not the fact that they had been arrested without evidence, for acts in a similar vein had been occurring for weeks now starting with Harry.

No, wizards were disgustingly good at ignoring the more unpleasant aspects of reality, the arrests alone would not have sparked such disapproval, not while the Ministry was busy making up excuses. What was really making headlines, and igniting the protests of nearly every Slytherin was that among the newly arrested was the first of Ancient and Noble birth.

Another four wizards had been arrested yesterday, and as Orion had so fervently mentioned, one of those wizards was a Black. A branch member of the family, but still a Black nonetheless. A pureblood of a wealthy and well-known family was arrested without evidence and would likely not see trial for at least a few months, if at all. 

Tom couldn’t fathom the thoughts of one so obviously moronic, but the circus act that was the British Ministry had long since lost any trace of levity. At this rate, Harry was less likely to be discovered and more likely to be lost in the shuffle of bureaucratic shenanigans.

The Ministry “investigation” was ironically more akin to a witch hunt than anything else.

The fact of the matter was that purebloods were far more likely to be secret supporters of Grindelwald’s cause than anyone else. No one acknowledged this fact, of course, which was just further proof of how far money would take you when it came to the Ministry. But the mounting public unease in the face of continuous failure would not cease merely because Diggory wanted it to.

With his flagrant displays of force and obvious willingness to attack anywhere at any time, Grindelwald had driven an already desperate Minister to the point of unravelling. Dumbledore had seen an opportunity to pursue his own agenda and had snapped up Diggory like the vulture he was.

All it would take was one more high-profile attack and the whole farce of civil society would collapse on itself.

“Sit down Black. You’re making a fool of yourself,” Abraxas’ voice chimed out with seeming indifference, but an apparent tightness to Tom’s discerning ears.

“Oh, shut up Malfoy.” Orion’s blunt and entirely in character response brought out a scandalized sound from Abraxas. The Black’s expression twisted into an ugly sneer, as though daring him to respond. If things escalated any further Tom would be forced to intervene, lest his followers lunge at each other like muggle brutes.

“Why shouldn’t he be angry? You’re in as much danger as the rest of us, Malfoy. If the Ministry’s willing to go this far, then even your money won’t protect you.”

The blonde grit his teeth painfully against Avery’s snide comment. Though most remained silent, it was clear to see the unease spreading amongst the Slytherins, and more importantly, his Knights.

Maen Prince and Elias Nott sat the farthest away from his position, holding their own quiet conversation. Every once in a while they would pause to listen to what was being said in the main discussion before returning to their own form of deliberation. 

Meanwhile, Lestrange sent him worshipping looks, like an acolyte praying for divine intervention. Tom was no god, but these were his followers, and he most certainly would not allow Dumbledore to succeed in whitewashing the entirety of the magical world.

Not without a fight.

“How much longer before they start raiding homes? Something needs to be done—“

“Enough.” He breathed.

The sudden silence of the room drew the attention of the other Slytherins, but none were foolish enough to disturb it. 

“You are all falling, quite soundly, into Dumbledore’s trap.” He kept his features placid, indifferent. It wouldn’t do to show how well he’d been rattled. 

“Dumbledore? It’s Dumbledore that’s behind this?”

Tom narrowed his eyes at Avery’s thoughtless interruption, barely enjoying the way he quailed and lowered his head in shame. It seemed that the student’s untimely actions were becoming more frequent. Something would have to be done about that.

“Indeed, _Avery_.” He said coldly. “Diggory doesn’t have the guts to attempt something like this. Not without help.”

Tom scowled at the thought that Diggory had been somehow emboldened by Dumbledore’s complicity. 

The old man was confident in his plans, treating Grindelwald as the only threat to his design. He believed that Harry was helplessly confined and Tom was too young to do anything more than watch from the sidelines.

Dumbledore would live to regret the mistake.

“But for once you are correct, Avery. Something does need to be done.” Tom tilted his head to the side in consideration, red eyes glittering dangerously.

“Prince, Nott,” he ordered suddenly, earning startled looks of deference from the two boys. “I suspect Dumbledore will use the current circumstances to perform something similar to a purge within the school. The Aurors will aid him in this. It is your job to ensure that nothing of a dubious nature will be found. At least not in Slytherin.” Tom smiled pleasantly and added the next part as though an easily forgotten afterthought. 

“You have 24 hours.”

Prince and Nott stood in tandem and each executed a shaky bow before quickly making themselves scarce, aware of the massive task they needed to accomplish in less than a day.

Tom watched expectantly as both Abraxas and Orion paled at the sudden news. He smirked slightly, recalling that they each had their own fair share of Dark artifacts hidden away.

Tom was grateful for the forewarning he had been given, but even he was dubious as to whether Dumbledore would actually have the gall to do such a thing. Even if he was the Headmaster, the old man would likely have received a verbal lashing from the Board and a number of parents.

Dumbledore was not the Headmaster, but he did have his own contingent of Aurors inside the school currently. Anassa was doing her best to limit their movements as much as possible, but as long as Grindelwald remained a possible threat, the Aurors would likely remain.

Harry knew the old man better than Tom. From what he could gather, Harry had been on the receiving end of a better part of Dumbledore’s schemes in the future. How he had figured into the old man’s plots still eluded him, but if Harry thought Dumbledore could and would go to absurd lengths to push forward his own agenda, Tom was inclined to trust him.

What a thought.

“Avery, I do recall your family having at least one member inside the Department of Mysteries.”

Kanus Avery bobbed his head stupidly at the nonquestion. Eager to please.

“Rumor has it that Grindelwald had a few spies in that department. Find out more.” He finished lightly.

Such a vague order it was. Kanus would realize later that the purported spy was more than likely to be one of his own family members than anyone else. If that should be the case, Tom would deal with the matter personally. Cruel perhaps, but effective.

He was beginning to lose patience with the Dark Lord. Tom had left the man to his business when he was terrorizing other countries, but now Grindelwald had taken an interest in Britain.

He had taken an interest in Harry.

It was a combination of these elements that had Tom plotting demise of the soon-to-be former Dark Lord. There was no room for two in the world, let alone the country. Tom would not have his own power base stolen from him. Right now Grindelwald did not know him, and thus did not consider him a threat.

Preemptive action would be the most efficient approach.

“Take care of things here. I’m going on my prefect rounds.” Tom stood smoothly, uninterested in the reactions of the other Slytherins. He needed to be alone to begin planning his next move.

His sudden exit should not have come as any surprise. Tom had always been somewhat aloof, what with his own internal surety of superiority, but he had become more withdrawn with Harry’s absence. While this did not effect is day to day interactions, beyond the shortening of his already short patience, Tom found that he would prefer to be alone at any given moment rather than participating in the subtle web weaving and mind games he had once enjoyed.

Perhaps, Harry’s return would revive the previous status quo, but that remained to be seen.

The wandered the halls, having no intentions of actually performing any kind of patrol, thus leaving the Slytherin area and venturing outward.

The remaining Aurors knew better than to be out and about at night. Tom was truly proud of Anassa’s efficiency in thoroughly limiting the movements of one of his main groups of opposition. Whatever power Dumbledore wielded via the Aurors was severely hampered by the mere threat of petrification.

And possibly even death.

All that really remained was the final push, something that would cut the feet from beneath the old man and push him out of the school once and for all. Dumbledore was gaining power quickly. If ever there was to be an ideal time to strike, it would be now while the chaos would mask any signs of wrongdoing and allow for greater maneuverability.

For that, he need more information on Dumbledore, something that would give him an edge when it came time to get his story straight. 

Tom stopped walking abruptly, the quiet sound of muffled footsteps having alerted him to the presence of another. He felt a vague wave of irritation as the trespasser continued to remain hidden, as though hoping Tom would simply lose interest and leave. Magic flaring around him, saturating the corridor with its heavy presence, his red eyes flashed dangerously as he sensed a presence just beyond him and impudently concealed from his sight.

Foolish.

With barely a twitch of his hand the hidden presence was jerked forward, a shriek leaving the boy’s lips and a long, silken piece of fabric sailing into Tom’s waiting grasp.

“Charlus Potter,” he said, unimpressed. “You should know better than to be wandering the halls after curfew.”

And it truly was a bigger deal than usual. The ‘mysterious’ petrifications of the many Aurors meant to be protecting the school had prompted Dippet to institute an earlier, much stricter curfew. That fact that Charlus Potter was out so late in the midst of an unknown threat indicated both daring and a fair amount of idiocy.

The messy haired fourth year glared with all the vehemence he could muster. Tom didn’t even flinch.

“And what about you?” The Gryffindor challenged. “You’re out too. If you rat me out I’ll take you with me!”

The harsh whisper of the boy inspired another bout of irritation from Tom. It was late, he was tired, and Tom had so very little patience to spend on trivialities.

Just yesterday he would have been angered by the sight of this inferior copy, this boy that looked so much like Harry, but at the same time not at all. Lucky for the little lion, his desires had been sated recently. 

A smug grin creeped upon his features as he remembered how thoroughly ravished he had left Harry, the man’s utter vulnerability when he peaked. Despite the fact that it had been a mere dream, Tom felt pointedly satisfied and perhaps just a tad playful as well.

He smirked.

“I’m not sure if you’ve heard, but I am a prefect, and thus I am charged with patrolling the school after dark. Perhaps that is the reason I am here, or perhaps Headmaster Dippet has allowed me to formally investigate Mr. Evans’ disappearance and I’ve been provided certain liberties as such.”

Tom took a threatening step forwards and was satisfied to see Charlus instinctively step back. Unlike Harry, this Potter seemed to have some self-preservation.

“Or maybe I am engaged in Dark and evil magics, cold and dangerous spells the likes of which the world beyond Slytherin is not even aware of.” He whispered, a cruel smile dancing across his features.

Charlus’ eyes widened, clearly at a loss for how much of Tom’s statements were the truth. But the little Gryffindor managed to focus, shaking his head and mustering all the courage he could to latch onto one of his previous statements.

“So it’s true then,” the boy said quietly, “Mr. Evans didn’t just leave.”

The thought of Harry and his abrupt departure nearly sent Tom into another hapless bout of rage, but the boy before him managed to distract him enough to avert the disaster.

“I knew Professor Dumbledore was lying,” he whispered.

_‘Dissent in the ranks?’_ Tom savored the thought like a cat preparing to pounce. It appeared that the old man was complacent in more ways than one.

Harry had inferred that Dumbledore would at some point be in the position to gather and hoard a truly disgusting amount of political power. Tom already knew that as the Deputy, Dumbledore was next in line to become Headmaster should anything happen to Dippet.

That in itself would be disastrous, but the mere idea that the conniving old man would have full control over the educations of generations of magical children was enough to make Tom feel physically ill.

It needed to be stopped.

The gathering of a few key groups would be the first step in his deposing of Dumbledore. While the old man's focus remained outside of the school, Tom would use the opportunity to plunder what was left of his following. 

Harry had bridged the gap, now it was up to Tom to sink the dagger.

People like Charlus were already so willing to follow someone. Perhaps it had something to do with the matter of Lords, he mused. Regardless, it was a plan, something he could do rather than sitting and waiting impotently for someone else to make their next move.

It would be simple, yes. Simple, but not easy. Never easy.

“You are not old enough to be in Mr. Evans’ NEWT courses, but I have seen you about during the club meetings.”

Charlus blushed and mumbled his response. “Mr. Evans is a good teacher. He’s smart, and cool, and he always slows down when I need some extra help, and,” it was at all possible the boy turned even redder. “There’s no way he would have just left, not without at least saying goodbye.”

Tom’s unglamoured eyes glinted in the darkness.

“You are correct.” The sudden answer drew a quiet gasp from the fourth year, but Tom paid it no mind. “Mr. Evans did not leave. He was taken from the castle quite unwillingly when he was betrayed by someone he trusted.”

Tom paused to allow the statement to sink in properly. He hadn’t said any names, but he was certain young Charlus would come to his own conclusions, and hopefully spread the word.

“But that’s enough of that,” he said abruptly, drawing out a flinch. Keep them off balance, he told himself. Such games would be far more enjoyable with Harry. The man himself was not so easily predicted, but alas, he would have to make do. For now, anyways.

“No matter the reasons, I am still a prefect and you are still breaking curfew, and thus will need to be reported.”

“Your bluffing,” Charlus hissed.

His smirked widened into a predatory grin.

“Am I?” He savored the words. Ah, it had been far too long since he had properly toyed with his prey. In the darkness of the night, Tom felt a cat like grin spread across his features when Charlus faltered, his Gryffindor courage failing him.

Potter was more wary as he spoke this time, taking a moment to measure his words before speaking.

“I-is that so? Then I should be going. May I have that back?”

Tom nearly laughed at the sudden hesitance. As it was, he had no reason to continue teasing the little Potter. He certainly could hurt the boy, but Tom was almost certain that Charlus Potter was Harry’s grandfather, and it wouldn’t do to meddle in such complex matters as time travel.

The cloak in his hands was being eyed rather anxiously, though, and Tom was ever so curious.

“What is this?” He asked while studying the light piece of fabric. Tom would almost call it airy. It flowed like water and weighed nearly nothing. Though, there was a symbol subtly woven in to the collar. A frustratingly familiar symbol.

“It’s an invisibility cloak. My father will be quite cross if I manage to lose it.”

Tom heard the way Charlus’ voice cracked as he said the word ‘father.’ If his information was accurate, then the head of the Potter family was still comatose in St. Mungo’s.

Tom just barely managed to stop himself from sneering at the sentiment. Yes, this boy and his father were technically Harry’s family, but they didn’t know that. As far as he was concerned, Harry had cut all ties with his past by coming to this time.

He had Tom. Harry didn’t need anyone else.

“30 points from Gryffindor for being out past curfew. Now get out of my sight Potter.”

The boy looked like he wanted to protest, but he probably realized that he had gotten off easy in terms of punishments and quickly set about disappearing lest Tom change his mind.

The fourth year was halfway down the hall when he stopped and turned around, daring to speak in spite of Tom’s irritation. “You’ll find Mr. Evans, won’t you?”

Tom bared his teeth threateningly in a parody of a smile. “I have already found Mr. Evans,” he answered confidently. “It is simply a matter of taking him back.”

*****

That night Tom appeared before the figure of Harry, stepping into the void of their shared minds with neither fear nor hesitation. The man before him did not look surprised by his arrival, but Tom had no need for such a thing. If Harry would not find his own way out of confinement, then Tom would carry out his own plans.

He would free Harry and destroy his enemies in one fell swoop.

“Tell me everything you know about Dumbledore and Grindelwald.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Keep those comments coming. They mean a lot to me, especially the criticism.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello and welcome to this new chapter. I know it has been far too long, and for that I can only apologize. I do hope people haven't given up on me and are still willing to keep reading. Just know that school is hard, but writing is harder. This chapter was scrapped completely about 5 times before I was even semi-satisfied with it. I think it was worth it though.
> 
> Please enjoy.

"Professor Dumbledore!"

"James, my boy, it's good to see you again," Albus immediately plastered on a genial smile at the sight of his former student, though he could not remember the boy.

He supposed it was to be expected, James Campbell was not remarkable in the least, aside from his rather overwhelming naivete. Albus could only applaud young James for making it this far in such a world while still holding firmly to such innocence. He silently wished there were more people like James, but to his current purpose the boy was no more than an obstacle.

"I do believe I've told you I am no longer your Professor."

The boy skidded to a stop, his arms half posed in a strange show of nervousness.

"Yes, Mr. Dumbledore. Of course, sir. Right—ah, are you here to see Harrison again?"

Albus smiled kindly, glad that they had moved towards his desired topic.

"Indeed I am. I'm afraid Harrison and I have something of rather great importance to discuss."

“Oh, well then,” James stepped aside to lead the way, an unusual seriousness coloring his features.

“I feel I ought to warn you,” he called out nonchalantly, still walking, Albus trailing behind him. “There was an… incident… with my partner. Harrison’s had to be restrained, and he’s not been in much of a mood for talking since.”

Albus did not question the rather cryptic statement, though he wanted to. It was simply more efficient to just go and witness the so-called ‘mood’ for himself rather than relying on James’ obviously biased recounting. 

He couldn’t fathom why, but for some reason James actually appeared to be defending Harrison. James was just a boy, of course, but Albus had thought it would have been obvious just how much of a danger Harrison was; if not initially, then definitely after having watched him for days now. Albus could only conclude that the young Auror was far more innocent than first estimated, and could only pray that innocence did not one day get him killed.

“Here we are. I’ll be waiting outside, Professor. Just—please don’t rile him up too much.”

It was only once the Auror had left the room that Abus was truly confronted with the harsh reality before him.

Harrison was no longer free to roam the small cell. Instead, his arms had been tightly bound behind his back in a painful way and secured to the far wall. They were entirely wrapped in specialized runic bandages designed to seal off magic, the likes of which he had only seen once before. The boy was knelt on the hard ground, his head bowed forward with dark, unkept hair obscuring his features. Albus could see the sweat as it gathered on his brow, feel the oppressive heat of the room. Most worrying was the way the boy breathed. Each breath was slow, carefully controlled, as though Harrison was only just remaining in control.

He looked like a caged beast.

Albus forced himself to push away his feelings of pity. Harrison Evans was stubborn, prideful, and much too similar to himself. He wouldn't respond well to pity, and Albus _needed_ him to respond. The clock was ticking and he still had no idea as to Gellert's true motive. The man knew him too well, Albus was being evaded and sidestepped at every turn and there simply wasn't time anymore.

"Harrison, my boy, you need not live like this,” he pleaded. “You are not beyond redemption. I know there is a part of you that understands how important this is. _Please_ , listen to reason."

The boy did not move from his rather uncomfortable looking position. He heaved a rattling breath and rolled his shoulders like a jungle cat stretching its muscles. And said nothing.

Albus was bewildered by the changes that he saw as he stepped into the cramped space that had formerly housed a few dozen prisoners. The area did not appear different, upon a first glance, but all he had to do to make the change apparent was _breathe_.

The air sparked against his tongue, burning on its way into his lungs. It was as though he had stepped into the midst of a thunderstorm, and had mere moments before the inevitable strike of lightning.

“What happened here?” He asked, surprising himself with the suddenness of the question.

The tension seemed to escalate with each moment that passed, eventually reaching the point where he was struggling against the air itself.

Perhaps the wards had weakened? It mattered not. Albus needed to repair the situation quickly before it grew too far out of hand.

He approached the cell more closely and was hit with the most ominous magic he had ever experienced. Albus sensed many things: the heat of a roaring fire, the feeling of electricity singeing his skin, and unmistakably the scent of grave dirt.

“What have you done to yourself, my boy?”

The look he was given was certainly hostile, eyes sharp and poisonous green. Albus had hoped the boy would not be beyond saving, but it was clear to him now that Harrison had gone too far into the Dark Arts. His magic was destroying itself.

“The realms of the Dark Arts are perilous under normal circumstances, but for one of your power they can be a danger to everyone around you as well. I hope you understand now why you needed to be removed before you became a living threat to the students.”

Harrison snarled, but did not move from his position.

Albus needed to remember this moment. He needed to remember _this_ as the reason for all of his actions. Harrison Evans had once had the potential to be great, to be a force for good in a world that so desperately needed such people, but he had been tainted.

The Dark Arts had squandered leagues of talent. Harrison was beyond saving, but perhaps he hadn’t yet given up hope for redemption.

“You must tell me now, my boy. I am doing everything I can, but Grindelwald grows ever bolder with each passing day. I suspect he is meddling in Britain for more than one reason, but if you know anything at all _you must tell me now_.”

The boy stared at him from across the cell with glazed eyes. For a time, he gave no indication that he had heard anything Albus said, but almost as though he was merely delayed in his response, Harrison finally tilted his head to the side in what Albus could only interpret as acknowledgement.

He uncoiled from his position on the ground, standing as though the bindings on his arms were naught but an annoyance, slinking forward as far as he was able with carefully measured steps. It was unsettling, but Albus remained strong in the face of the pressing, tainted magic, hopeful even.

Harrison stopped barely an inch from the bars, seemingly not even registering their presence. Albus slowly felt the air begin to grow heavier. Dark and oppressive, it weighed upon his aged form until he was hunched over, legs shaking beneath him.

“ _Liar._ ”

He raised his lowered head in utter confusion.

“’Done all you can?’” Harrison clarified eventually. “You and I both know there is plenty you could be doing. You could have confronted him ages ago, before the situation became so dire, and yet here you are, so eager to pawn your mistakes off onto others, working in the shadows like a _coward_.”

Harrison spat the last words as though they physically repulsed him.

“You’re a liar of the worst kind. You lie to yourself and others in the same breath. You are a pathetic old man too afraid to face Grindelwald and see the worst of yourself reflected.”

Each word cut into Albus like a knife. Harrison did not say it, but surely he could not _know_ …

“Hypocrite! I’m _sick and tired_ of your _lies_. You will not lay your burdens on me _Albus Dumbledore_ , _your_ failings, because I’m done carrying them.

His eyes glowed and unholy green in the darkness, face twisted into an ugly snarl. The magic in the room swelled.

“Now, if that is all, I kindly ask that you _GET OUT!”_

Albus was blasted back by the sheer force do the magic. Even his reflexive shielding did not soften the blow entirely. And though the force of the impact was great, the force of the words were far greater.

He stumbled backwards, blue eyes wide and confused, but Harrison remained impassive, expression still painfully accusing. Whatever anger possessed him had apparently disappeared as quickly as it had come, and all that was left was an aching hollowness in a boy who was young for a wizard, but still felt so old.

The blank shock did not, could not, remain forever, and all too soon Albus picked himself off of his ungraceful leaning on the far wall and returned to his previous position. Though nothing was the same.

Harrison remained turned away, face expressionless, and Albus felt as though whatever words he held had dried and flaked away in the maelstrom.

He left, for there was simply nothing left to say.

*****

Elias was beginning to question his presence in the Inner Circle. 

Abraxas was a consummate politician, Maen was a Potion’s Master in the making, and Silvus was best dueler of their year besides Tom. What did _he_ have?

Besides a sardonic self-image and intense cynicism.

The Notts were a pureblood line, but they lacked the prestige of the Blacks or even the wealth and connections of the Averys and the Greengrasses. Elias’ father had a seat on the Wizengamot and a few businesses, but beyond that he was nothing. He had lived his life in the middle of the pack, unobtrusive and often unseen, yet Tom had chosen him to join the Inner Circle. He was the one that was chosen amongst all those in Slytherin.

An opportunity had presented itself, but for the life of him Elias couldn’t help but see the strings attached.

He was a Slytherin of course, cunning and ambition were bred into his blood, but it was impossible for him to look at Tom and not see the danger.

Ever since his inheritance, Tom had become more than merely an ‘above average mudblood’ even to the more skeptical. Not that he had ever really been one before, but now Elias could say with certainty that Tom was not just a Slytherin in name only. He was a living weapon, the center around which the entire House revolved.

Lestrange now looked at Tom with something akin to reverence, as though he were a god made manifest, whilst Malfoy’s stare was of lust and mingled greed.

Tom would tear them apart.

But that was only if he bothered after killing Elias and Maen.

“This is impossible!” Maen threw up his arms and covered his face with both hands, his black locks hanging limply between his fingers.

“Don’t say that,” he hissed irritably. He and Prince had been up all night going from room to room, demanding every student give up whatever secret stash of Dark artifacts they were keeping, and Merlin be damned some had more than one!

“We have ten hours until the deadline.” Prince continued errantly. “If we don’t have something to show for it, _or worse_ , the Aurors find something, whatever Tom sees fit to do will be worse than Azkaban!”

Maen apparently still remembered his punishment following the kidnapping of Harrison Evans. No one would ever forget, it would stick out in Elias’ memories as one of the worst things he had ever experienced, and he wasn’t even the one that was punished.

They were both heading towards the Great Hall for their obligatory breakfast appearances, but Elias and Maen had both decided that it would be far better for them to miss a few classes than to miss Tom’s deadline.

Passing by a group of second years they made sure to keep their faces impassive. It wouldn’t do for anyone to be getting any ideas. Even exhausted and on the verge of collapse, a pureblood, and more importantly a Slytherin, was expected to maintain certain appearances.

“Well, hello boys,” Avery suddenly appeared off to the side. Elias didn’t even flinch, the boy made a habit of skulking like the worm he was. “Late night?”

“Make yourself scarce Avery,” Prince responded testily. “Or I’ll make sure Tom knows exactly what we found in _your_ trunk.”

The wormy boy paled, likely recalling for the first time that he had just as much to lose as the rest of them. But unlike the others, Avery was a screw up, a mess of a person. It was a wonder he could even tie his shoes without help.

And Tom knew it.

“Well then, you two better pick up the pace. Some of the dogs have been sniffing a bit too close for comfort.” Avery had leaned in to whisper the last words as though he were conveying some precious secret.

Elias wrinkled his nose in disgust and abruptly lengthened his strides, wanting now more than ever to reach the Great Hall before he had to be subjected to any more of Avery’s attempts at intrigue.

“Oh, don’t worry Avery,” he replied sweetly, still working to widen the distance that Avery was persistently maintaining. “We’ll finish on time. And if not, you’ll be the first to know.”

And what a laugh that would be, if the Dumbledore and his Aurors got a look at some of the things stashed away in Avery’s trunk. No one should ever be so base, and yet Avery again defied all logic with his own depravity.

It would have been funny if Elias’ own life wasn’t hanging in the balance.

They finally arrived in the Great Hall, Maen being characteristically quiet at his side once he finished grumbling. They seated themselves at the periphery of the inner circle, just off to the side of the more important members. It still rankled that they were placed here, amongst fifth years and _worse_ , but he wasn’t in any mood to contest the seating arrangement at this point.

“Eat something, Nott. If we’re going to die its best to do it on a full stomach.”

Elias glared in disgruntlement at Maen’s typical gallows humor, which fell flat on this dire occasion, and proceeded to take a small bite out of a muffin. It tasted like sand in his mouth. His last meal and he had no appetite. 

What irony.

Finally the silence became too much.

“I just don’t see what all the fuss is about,” he groused. Internally wondering if something inside him had finally snapped. After all, there was only so long a person could remain afraid before finally they just got angry. 

“Searching our rooms, sending away the younger years in a panic, I say Riddle’s finally gone mad.”

Maen hissed harshly as he heard the thoughtless words so carelessly spoken.

“Watch your tongue,” he growled under his breath.

Elias bit his tongue, visibly struggling to keep himself suppressed. 

“It’s not like he can hear me.”

“You would be surprised,” Maen muttered acerbically. “Right now, I don’t care what you think of him, just keep it to yourself. Tom Riddle is not someone you want to test.”

“I’m flattered you think so highly of me.”

Like the devil himself, Tom appeared upon hearing his name, simultaneously inserting himself between the two arguing parties and cutting through the tension with ease.

He smiled pleasantly, and Elias physically felt the blood drain from his face. He was suddenly very ill.

“Don’t stop on my account. I’m always interested in hearing the honest opinions of my fellow students.”

Elias nearly fainted. The anger that had been slowly growing quailed in fright before the greater power.

What had he been thinking?! Tom sat beside him, perfect teeth shining in the light looking ever so flawless, and his heart was just about ready to give out. What sort of ignorance would it take to even _pretend_ to be the equal of such a person?

“Nothing to say?” Tom’s eyes narrowed dangerously, a playful smile dancing across his lips. Clearly he was enjoying their fear.

“Tom,” Maen spoke steadily. If Elias couldn’t see his face he almost would have thought the other was not afraid. “Nott was simply expressing his frustration with the limits you have set to our task.”

That bastard!

He’d been sold out. Thrown to the wolves. Prince was looking to make his getaway while Tom was busy tearing him apart. He didn’t know why it surprised him, but he’d rather swallow his own tongue than just let it happen.

“Don’t sell yourself short Prince. Weren’t you just complaining about not getting any sleep.”

Take that.

Tom’s eyes flicked back towards Maen, his smirk growing just so before he leaned back and sighed dramatically.

“I’m sure I’d be interested in hearing everything you two have to say, but I’ve a rather packed schedule today.”

Tom drummed his fingers on the table dispassionately, seemingly considering his options extensively before making a decision.

“You may recruit help,” he said finally. “People trustworthy and capable, but keep in mind that certain matters are to remain… exclusive.”

Tom smiled again. This time there was an unmistakably predatory lilt to the expression, just hovering above threatening. Elias swallowed, his throat now dry, and nodded in acknowledgement.

“But before that,” he continued darkly, “you will follow me. There is something that needs to be made _explicit_.”

Elias and Maen stood from the table, walking behind Tom as though there were heading to their own funerals, but the idea wasn’t all that far-fetched. 

There was still a little more than a half hour before classes started, and in that time there were any number of things Tom could inflict on them.

 _‘Torture?’_ Elias thought bleakly. Or perhaps something even worse? Tom could even rummage through their minds like he had with Minerva, break it into a million pieces if he were so inclined.

Apologize! Desperation he well and truly set in if he was beginning to think a mere apology would spare him Tom’s wrath. He had been out of line before. Discontent was one thing, but speaking such ideas—in public no less—Elias deserved whatever he got.

But an apology would be a start, at the very least. He would have to act quickly, Tom was leading them into an increasingly more isolated section of the school. Elias had no idea what was in store of them, but if it was even half as much as he imagined—

“Oi, you lot. Stop right there, I’m talking to you.”

Elias nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard the belligerent bleating of yet another group of Aurors. He could hardly make it through a day without being harassed by at least one of them, but they honestly could not have chosen a worse time to exert their nonexistent authority.

“Yes, can I help you?” Tom spoke pleasantly. 

As the head of their group, Tom took the lead in the conversation, which only served to worry Elias further. There were still a few students milling about, straining their ears to catch snippets of the conversation. Elias could really only hope that the stupid Aurors would just _back off_.

“Just a quick check up, you know the drill. What’s your business here, boys?”

“We were just going to discuss a few private matters before class—”

“Out here? Not in the Dining Hall or your dorms? Seems a little too private to me.”

Tom’s smile grew strained. If Elias had not been paying the utmost attention, he would have missed the way his Lord’s eyes flashed red for the briefest instant.

Dark magic hovered in the air, slipping past the bystanders and slithering over the floor. Elias felt as though he could not draw breath, he could not dare to move lest he be noticed by the dangerous predator in the room.

“You are correct, Mr.—“

“ _Captain_ Briggs.”

Tom smiled kindly as the moronic Auror damned himself.

“Of course. The badge certainly looks new, Captain. Recently promoted I suspect, and eager to prove yourself worthy of your title.”

The man, Briggs, blushed fiercely, defensively. “You’ve got a lot of nerve! I don’t need a damned Slytherin to tell me something like that!”

Unflinchingly, he stood against the now rushing Auror, his serene smile unchanged. Tom did not even consider the charging man to be worthy of drawing his wand.

To the dulled senses of the observers, it seemed as though the mad Auror Briggs had been in the middle of attacking the prefect, and star student, Tom Riddle, only to have unfortunately tripped and fallen on his face.

Magic in its raw form was not something a witch or wizard was normally consciously attuned to. Or at least, not in the current times. A child had to be carefully nurtured in the presence of such natural power in order to gain an idea of what Magic in the primeval sense truly felt like.

Spells and whatnot were almost always a physical phenomenon, one which could be easily observed. As such, there were few families who actually continued this practice, even amongst purebloods, as very rarely was there any need to _know_ Magic so intimately.

Elias Nott had the privilege of being a member of one such family, and he _felt_ every second of the encounter.

He felt as though the world had just tilted on its axis, as though the entirety of his surroundings were being pulled by the sheer gravity of Tom’s presence.

There was no looking away. Dark magic, darker than any he had ever felt, was being used. It was insidious in nature, the gentle rocking of a cradle before it tumbled out of the open window. Elias was breathless in awe, shock coloring his features clearly. It was indescribable. 

And it felt good.

Had he not suspected, had he not been prepared, Elias certainly would have fainted right there in the hallway in the presence of so many others. But he was prepared. Tom was his Lord and Elias knew more or less what to expect.

“Maen,” he whispered harshly, his voice still unrecovered from the sheer force of the phenomenon. He had never seen magic used that way, but Elias swore he would never forget it. “We need to do something.”

“W-what?”

Maen looked as though he would need more time to find his bearings, but they didn’t have time. Just a cursory glance around the room showed him that Slytherin’s younger and more magic sensitive were already swaying as though drunk.

There were luckily only Slytherins and Gryffindors present. There weren’t any remaining Gryffindor families who bothered to teach their children in the old ways, and Elias could handle the Slytherins, so it was just a matter of crowd control at this point.

The silent shock of the fallen Captain was finally beginning to dawn upon the other Aurors, and the situation would very quickly devolve into something beyond repair unless Elias _did something_.

He threw a stinging hex at Maen hoping desperately that it would knock him back into his senses, then set about herding the largest and nearest group of Slytherins off to the side, ignoring the filthy and confused looks of the Gryffindors, who stared at him.

Elias could only hope his Lord didn’t get too carried away.

*****

Tom could feel his strong hold upon his surroundings, the quiver of fear in every body, the harsh glint in every gaze. His magic was a cloud, and for a moment Tom was _everywhere_.

How easily he could end this matter, simply snap the poor Auror’s neck. He was young, Tom could see, promoted too young because his superior had made the mistake of touching something he should not have.

Tom imagined this young Auror finding his Captain’s body, his mentor, petrified. No doubt the man screamed before his end, seeing merely the ghost of his dear Anassa as his own cowardice spared his life.

This boy wandered before a dangerous creature, righteous determination his sword and shield.

Just like poor Minnie.

He could end them all and no one would be the wiser. No doubt Dumbledore would voice his suspicions, whispering the vices and evils of the student to any who would listen. But who would ever suspect poor but brilliant orphan boy, Tom Riddle?

The weight of the air redoubled. Tom watched serenely as the nameless Aurors that had been trying to aid their fallen comrade went down themselves, breathless and guileless.

It would be so easy. Snap the brittle bones of their necks and no one would ever know the truth of the deed, though they may suspect.

Tom’s magic was like a caged animal. Defiance roared within him so strongly it was almost foreign, a thirst for cruelty and revenge so strong it could not have been his own. Never did Tom _feel_ so keenly. Not for himself.

His mind returned to him with stark clarity. Occlumency alone, as he had learned, was not enough to restrain his magic, but perhaps…?

Ah… there.

The cold of the floor pressed against his senses, simultaneously a burn and a balm. Matter warred against mind, the press of the undetectable bag at his hip now more prevalent than ever. Should he relax for even a moment, the artifacts within would be upon him, eager.

Pressure built behind his eyes, blood rushed and breath rattled. The chains were heavy on his form, but the sound of voices did not escape his notice. The words were beyond his reach, but the chatter of children was unmistakable and it allowed him to bring his focus elsewhere. Away from his failing body.

The aching of flesh and bones stood out clearly from his proud stance. Sure enough, he became aware of the source of the echoes. 

The mind within his mind, trapped, begging for release.

_“Harry. Harry, wake up.”_

A waking dream. Two minds attempted to wrestle themselves apart. And failed.

“Harrison, wake up. It’s time for breakfast.”

He cracked open a tired eyelid at the pointlessly optimistic voice that had intruded upon the downward spiral of his own thoughts.

“I know they don’t give you much, so I brought you some tart from my own meal. That’s your favorite isn’t it? Hey, are you listening to me? Don’t go back to sleep!”

He saw as Jimmy pursed his lips in such a way that made the dimples on his cheeks all too visible, looking like a pouting child. For the first time in weeks, he laughed. It was a full throated, stomach clenching, laugh that hurt his ribs and made him feel better than anything else likely could.

He could feel confusion from over the link, bafflement at his sudden delirious happiness, but he didn't feel like explaining it.

Jimmy stood on the other side of the bars quietly. His mouth was twitching upwards as though the laughter was contagious, even if he didn't quite understand its source. Jimmy was simply glad to have been able to cheer him up somewhat.

The happiness was unsurprisingly fleeting.

A flash of red all but deafened his senses. Jimmy, the innocent young Auror who had watched him, nursed him, _cared_ for him, went stiff as a corpse and collapsed.

Behind the form of his fallen friend came a grinning face. Two blackened stumps waved at him, all madness and glee as they kicked aside their own partner and towered over him mockingly.

“Hello filth.”

_“… Harry?”_

“Did you miss me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If that last section was confusing, good. It was supposed to be. I was experimenting with a sort of blended consciousness POV. There was supposed to be a relatively smooth transition between the two perspectives. Tell me how it turned out! Even when I'm not posting I still eagerly read every comment I get!


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